


Can't Come To The Phone

by MacksDramaticShenanigans



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Adult Eddie Kaspbrak, Adult Richie Tozier, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Beverly Marsh is a Good Friend, Bisexual Beverly Marsh, Childhood Friends, Coming Out, Eddie Kaspbrak & Beverly Marsh Are Best Friends, Fade to Black, Feelings, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, Flirting, Fluff, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Richie Tozier, Love Confessions, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Non-Graphic Smut, Oblivious Eddie Kaspbrak, Practice Kissing, Reunions, Sappy Ending, Young Eddie Kaspbrak, Young Richie Tozier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-07 12:55:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21458410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MacksDramaticShenanigans/pseuds/MacksDramaticShenanigans
Summary: Eddie Kaspbrak is thirteen years old when his best friend teaches him how to kiss and he realizes the girl he’s learning for isn’t the one he really wants to kiss.Eddie Kaspbrak is forty years old when he reaches for a box of spaghetti noodles and gets something much better: the chance to kiss the one hereallywants to kiss, even twenty-seven years later.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 71
Kudos: 448





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hiii! Happy Eddie Month everyone! Woo! Our spaghetti man deserves everything in the world, this month especially! I do hope to write something even more Eddie centric, but for now, I’ve got this Eddie pov fic for you all!
> 
> Funny enough, I actually originally had this idea for a stucky fic, but I decided to adapt it to for reddie, which actually ended up working out even better than it would’ve before! I’m super super happy with how this one has turned out and I really hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it! 
> 
> This fic will have five chapters! I have four of them completely written out and I’m working on the fifth one right now. I’m pretty close to being done with it, so have no fear this fic will be completed! Haha. It’s just a matter of finding time to finish the last chapter, not the motivation to, thank goodness. Because I don’t have it completely finished yet I’m going to be posting every other day, just to ensure I have enough time to finish the last chapter before I’ve posted the first four. Please please please let me know what you guys are thinking of the fic as I post it though, your comments keep me going and give me that extra boost of motivation for sure!!
> 
> Big big thank you to the loml caroline for helping me figure out my title and summary and just fielding my concerns/rambles about this fic and all my writing in general. I wouldn’t be the writer I am today if it weren’t for your constant support!
> 
> This fic is unbetaed, _I know_. I probably could’ve found a beta to look over it, but I’m too eager to post so. Sorry ‘bout it. All mistakes are my own!
> 
> The title comes from [Missing You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WAP8P8IQI7M) by Chosen Jacobs. That kid has some kickass music my friends, and this song is like the most perfect song for the Losers Club. It also really fit this fic, so I thought, hey, why not use it for the title haha.
> 
> Anyways. I really really hope you guys like this one! I’m super proud of how it turned out!! Now without further ado, the fic… enjoy!!!

“So, you and Heather Holloway, huh?” Richie asks, bumping his shoulder into Eddie’s.

They’re sitting shoulder to shoulder at the foot of Richie’s bed in his room, their homework spread out around them. Eddie’s got his notebook in his lap, furiously scribbling away at its pages, while Richie’s doodling in the margins of his own, homework all but forgotten for him.

Eddie feels himself flush at Richie’s prodding question, despite the fact that there isn’t anything to even question in the first place. He and Heather Holloway aren’t dating; hell, he’s barely spoken a whole sentence to her, really. She’s  _ older _ , an eight grader, and she’s way smarter than Eddie, too. She doesn’t carry an inhaler or have a calculator watch that beeps every two hours, and she doesn’t have run ins with Henry Bowers and his nasty gang either. 

“What about her?” Eddie asks, jutting his chin out challengingly, as if daring Richie to crack a rude joke about her.

Richie ignores Eddie’s attempt at being tough and quirks an eyebrow at him instead. “Aw, c’mon, don’t get all shy on me now, Eds,” he laughs. 

Eddie’s nose scrunches up at the nickname. “Don’t call me that.”

“What’s the deal with you two?” Richie presses, ignoring Eddie’s protests. He nudges Eddie’s arm again and puts on a truly terrible southern belle accent. “Whaahhy, you can tell me, sugah. I won’t tell a soul.” 

When that doesn’t earn him anything more than a roll of Eddie’s eyes, Richie dumps his notebook out of his lap and turns so he’s facing Eddie, then reaches out to tug on his sleeve. “I saw her looking at you the other day in class,” he says, voice back to normal.

Eddie’s blush spreads down his neck and colors the tips of his ears even brighter. Heather Holloway was looking at him? He ducks his head, a little embarrassed, and shrugs. “Don’t be dumb, Rich,” he says, shaking his head. “Heather doesn’t like me. She’s an  _ eighth _ grader, and I’m just in  _ seventh _ grade,” he scoffs, as if that was a good enough reason for Heather not to like him. And if that wasn’t enough there’s a whole laundry list of other reasons why, but Eddie doesn’t feel like going there. 

“That’s what you think,” Richie retorts smartly, leaning back against the footboard of his bed. He crosses his arms over his chest and a smug little look takes over his face. “ _ I _ think she likes you. I think she likes you  _ a lot _ .” Then suddenly he’s all up in Eddie’s space, fingers pinching at Eddie’s cheeks. “I think she thinks you’re  _ cute, cute, cute _ !”

Eddie thrashes his arms out, grabbing at Richie’s wrists and pushing at his arms to get him off of him. “Hey, quit it, asshole!” He cries, kicking out a foot. It barely even connects with Richie’s thigh and does absolutely nothing to stop him. “Fuck off!”

“I bet she wants to  _ kiss you _ !” Richie puckers his lips teasingly at Eddie, making overdramatic kissing noises. He starts to lean in too, like he’s going to start pressing smacking, wet kisses to Eddie’s red red red cheeks, but Eddie manages to get both hands square on Richie’s chest and give him a good shove before he can. Richie tumbles off of him and onto the floor, where he sprawls out on his back and laughs until he catches his breath.

Eddie, properly flustered, frowns down at Richie, his words reverberating through his brain. He doesn’t really know what he’s supposed to say back to that. Heather Holloway liking him? Heather Holloway wanting to  _ kiss _ him? It would be… honestly a bit of a miracle if anyone liked him in that way. And that’s… kind of an exciting thought. Truth be told, he never really thought anyone  _ could _ feel that way about him. At least not now. But as exciting as it is, it also makes Eddie’s skin crawl. Because someone liking him means that he’ll have to do  _ boyfriend _ things. Things like holding her hand, or worse,  _ kissing her _ .

And… those things have never really been appealing to Eddie in the first place. But he doesn’t think he really wants to do them with Heather. He doesn’t like her. Not like that, anyways. She’s nice to him in class, but it’s never made him feel any certain way. Other than relieved, maybe. It is kind of nice to have someone other than the Losers that doesn’t make fun of him. But other than that, Eddie’s never had his heart start racing in his chest, no stomach flip flopping in a good way. None of the things Ben and Bill always talk about happening when they look at the pretty girls in their class. Eddie hasn’t felt anything like that around her. 

He can’t help the way his brows furrow together and his frown deepens. He probably  _ ought _ to like her like that. He probably  _ ought _ to want to hold her hand and kiss her. 

Maybe it’s just the germs making him feel that way. All that boyfriend-girlfriend stuff is just one big breeding ground for germs and bacteria. Or so his mommy’s always told him.  _ You never know where a person’s hand has been, Eddie-Bear. Touching the desks and the bathrooms and who knows what else at that school. _ His mother had always shaken her head disapprovingly, mouth twisted up bitterly as she warned him.  _ And if the rest of the girls are like that Beverly Marsh, you’ll want to positively stay away from kissing them. Who knows how many diseases they’re carrying around in that lip gloss? _

“Hey, Spaghetti, what’s that look for?” Richie asks, tugging on Eddie’s sleeve again.

Eddie chews on his lower lip and picks at a loose thread at the seam of his jeans. He doesn’t bother telling Richie off for the nickname this time. “It’s just..” he starts. “I don’t… I’ve never had a girlfriend before,” Eddie sighs. “I don’t know how any of that works. And I haven’t… I’ve never kissed anyone before, Rich. My mother always said it’s… too germy… what if she wants to kiss me? What am I supposed to do? I don’t know if I  _ want  _ to do that. I don’t even know  _ how _ to do it!” There’s a hint of a desperate sort of panic to his voice as it jumps up an octave and comes out even quicker than usual. Eddie can’t help it, though. They’re honest fears of his. 

Though it’s not something he expects Richie to understand. Richie’s not worried about germs and bacteria like that. And he’s already kissed a girl.  _ Two  _ girls, actually. One of them was Bev, on a dare, but she’s still a girl and it was still a kiss, so it counts. Point is, Richie knows what he’s doing, unlike Eddie.

Richie’s brows furrow and he sits up before shuffling over to Eddie. He gently touches Eddie’s arm, breathing with him until he works himself back down from the edge of an asthma attack. 

When Eddie’s finally able to breathe properly again, his eyes settle on Richie’s face. There’s an almost contemplative look on it, like he’s trying to do some hard mental math. For a moment, Eddie thinks maybe he’s gone back to their homework. Maybe he’s bored with Eddie’s fear or thinks it’s silly. Eddie wouldn’t blame him.

“I could teach you how,” Richie offers, catching Eddie off guard. “If you want.”

“I— you— _ what _ ?” Eddie stammers, head snapping up so fast the back of his neck almost smacks into the bedpost. 

Richie nods, looking firm about his proposal. “Yeah, I can teach you,” he repeats. “Show ya how it’s done,” he adds in a goofy voice. “That way you know how and Heather won’t dump you. I’ll even go brush my teeth for you, or chew a whole pack of gum before if ya want.”

Eddie frowns. “Me and Heather aren't even dating,” he points out.

Richie just waves that off. “Potayto, potahto,” he says. “Besides, once I teach you how to kiss she’ll definitely want to be your girlfriend. I’m a pro at this; they don’t call me Trashmouth for nothing.” Richie sends Eddie an impish grin and winks, too. The wink is more of an overexaggerated blink on one side, and it looks a little ridiculous thanks to the way his glasses magnify his eyes, but it helps Eddie relax about Richie’s offer.

“Nobody calls you Trashmouth because of your kissing, dipshit,” Eddie replies, laughing a little.

Richie just grins wider. “Ah, but that’s just what you think,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows at Eddie. “Patience, young grasshopper, your eyes shall be opened to the truth soon enough,” he adds in an overdramatic voice. Eddie thinks it’s supposed to be the British guy voice, the one he hates so much, but it’s so bad he can’t tell for certain.

But before any eye opening can even begin, Richie jumps to his feet and races out of the room, leaving a confused Eddie all alone on the floor.

He returns a few minutes later, wiping an arm across his mouth as he lowers himself to the ground in front of Eddie again and crosses his legs as he sits. There’s a lopsided grin on his face and something blue at the corner of his lips. 

Eddie narrows his eyes at it. “Where the hell did you just go?” He demands.

“I brushed my teeth?” Richie responds, the  _ duh _ heavily implied. “I said I would.” He wipes at his mouth again, this time catching the spot of blue— toothpaste, Eddie realizes.

“O-oh,” he says. Something in his chest flops and he feels a little floaty for a second. Eddie can’t quite place this new feeling, so he chalks it up to being nervous about the kissing that’s to come.

“O...kay,” Eddie says slowly after a moment of collecting himself. He sits up straighter. “How are… how are we gonna do this?” He asks, glancing around at their textbooks and papers.

Richie sits up, clearly pleased that Eddie’s actually agreeing to go along with this. He scrambles onto his knees and works on clearing up some space around them by closing the textbooks and piling their papers as quickly as he can before shoving them all to the side. Then he turns towards Eddie and shuffles closer, still on his knees.

“Okay, you gotta sit up, too, Kaspbrak. I can’t do all the work myself,” Richie requests when Eddie doesn’t move and just stares up at him.

Eddie nods and lifts himself onto his knees as well. A sudden wave of nerves washes over him and he wipes his palms on the side of his shorts. He doesn’t know  _ why _ he’s so nervous. It’s not like this is Heather Holloway in front of him. It’s just Richie. And maybe that’s why.  _ Maybe it’s because he’s a boy _ , Eddie’s brain supplies, but Eddie shoves that back where it came from because  _ no _ , it has  _ nothing _ to do with that. Eddie doesn’t like Richie like that, doesn’t even like  _ boys _ like that for that matter, but Richie being a boy isn’t what’s making him nervous. He doesn’t care that Richie’s a boy. No matter what his mother’s spoon fed him to believe about those kinds of people. Eddie doesn’t believe her, anyways. It’s just another thing she’s tried to scare him about. But Eddie doesn’t fall for that shit anymore.

And besides, it’s just a little practice between two friends. It’s not like it’s going to mean anything.

“Alright,” Richie says once Eddie’s positioned himself in front of him. “Welcome to the Trashmouth School of Sucking Face,” he declares in his very best announcer cadence. “By the time I’m done with you you’ll be a pro!”

Eddie rolls his eyes at that. But he can’t help the pinkness that rises to the tips of his ears and spreads faintly across the bridge of his nose. They’re really doing this.

“The most important rule about kissing is that she knows it’s gonna happen,” Richie continues. “Now, there are some girls that like a good surprise— your mom certainly does, that’s how I got—  _ hey _ !” Richie cries when Eddie gives him a good shove for the comment. He really should have expected that. “Is that any way to treat your professor?”

“You’re an asshole, not a professor,” Eddie retorts, pressing his lips into a thin line. “Are you gonna teach me how to kiss or are you gonna make passes at my mom the whole time? ‘Cause if that’s the case, tell me now, and I’ll save us both our time.”

Richie’s hands shoot out to grab at Eddie’s shoulders, keeping him from moving. “No no no. Don’t leave! I’m done, that was the last one! I swear it!” Richie crosses his heart and then holds up his hand in a mock scout’s honor salute.

Eddie stifles a laugh at that. Richie’s never been a scout a day in his life. But he believes him nonetheless. Despite contrary belief, Richie does know when to stop. Eddie puts on a show of sighing and finally relenting. “That better be,” he says and waves a hand at Richie. “Go on.”

“Okay. Right. So. When you’re with a girl you wanna make her feel special. They really eat that shit up. Something like this:” Richie crowds into Eddie’s space and lifts a hand towards Eddie’s face.

Out of instinct, Eddie flinches away a little.

Richie snorts. “Relax, Spaghetti Head, I’m not giving you a wet willy.” 

He brings his hand up to Eddie’s cheek. It’s a little cold, a little clammy, but Eddie tries to ignore that and focus on Richie’s words. Richie pastes an overly charming smile on and bats his eyelashes behind the frames of his glasses. It’s completely over the top, and he tilts his head coquettishly to complete the picture. “Gosh, you sure look pretty tonight, Eds,” Richie sighs all dreamlike.

Eddie’s face flames and he gives Richie a good shove. “Fuck off!” He shouts. “Be serious, asshole!”

Richie doubles over in a fit of giggles that has Eddie frowning at him even harder. “I  _ am _ being serious!” He manages to wheeze between his laughs. 

When he finally reigns himself in and the laughter subsides, a sober expression takes over. “Okay okay,” he says, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “I’m done. I’m sorry,” he says, but he doesn’t sound sorry at all. “I meant that, though. You gotta butter them up otherwise you’ll never get anywhere.” 

He repositions himself in front of Eddie, even closer than before, so it seems. “It’s okay to touch her, but don’t be a perv about it. Just keep your hands in one spot,” he adds. To prove his point, Richie reaches out and places one hand on Eddie’s hip.

Eddie’s skin is hot under Richie’s touch, and where his shirt rides up a little and Richie’s palm presses directly against the bare skin, it practically burns. Eddie’s not sure what it means, but he likes the way it feels. 

“When you finally go in for the money shot, you gotta tilt your head a little so your noses don’t smash together. That hurts like a bitch. I swore Bev almost broke my nose that way.” Richie snorts at the memory. “Oh, and keep your eyes closed, too. I don’t know why, but everyone does it. Probably so it’s not weird.” Richie shrugs.

Eddie’s mind feels like it’s spinning. “That’s a lot to remember,” he says nervously.

“Kissing's easy peasy, Eds, I promise,” Richie reassures. “All you have to do is put your mouth on her mouth, swap a little spit, and that’s it.”

Eddie’s nose scrunches up at that and he resists the urge to gag a little. He doesn’t want to swap spit with  _ anyone _ . He likes his own spit, and his own spit  _ only _ , in his mouth, thanks very much.

“You might want to keep your mouth closed, though. I heard my sister talking on the phone about how Tyler Newsom put his tongue in her mouth, and I’ve never tried it, but,” Richie pauses for a second, then leans in a little closer, like he’s telling Eddie a secret, “it sounds gross as shit. Tongues are slimy, man.” Richie makes a face that, ironically, includes him sticking his tongue out. “Don’t tell anyone I said that,” he adds.

Eddie nods, but he’s too focused on the idea of someone sticking their tongue into his mouth to really comprehend what he’s promising. The urge to gag returns tenfold.

“Don’t worry about it, Spaghetti. I’m not gonna do that,” Richie reassures, as if he senses Eddie’s pique in panic. “You wanna try it now?”

Does Eddie want to try it now? He’s still nervous, still a little overwhelmed trying to keep track of everything Richie’s told him, but he  _ does _ want to try. After all, the only way he can learn is by putting his newfound knowledge to the test, right? So he straightens up and puffs out his chest, then nods. “Let’s try it,” he consents.

The bright smile that pops onto Richie’s face eases Eddie’s anxiety, and some of the tension in his shoulders seeps out when Richie lifts the hand not on Eddie’s hip to cup his cheek again. Eddie practically melts into the touch, his eyelids fluttering on their own accord already. He remembers that he should be practicing his own touch, so he reaches out and places his hands onto either one of Richie’s shoulders. He likes the way they feel under his hands, firm and strong.

“You’re a natural already,” Richie murmurs. His mouth is curved into an encouraging smile, and suddenly it’s all Eddie can see; he can’t take his eyes off of Richie’s lips. “M’gonna kiss you now, m’kay?”

All Eddie can do is nod jerkily. He sees Richie’s eyes slip shut, and he follows his lead, letting his own close as well. Eddie’s vaguely aware of just how close Richie’s face is to his, he can smell the minty fresh toothpaste on his breath as it washes over his face. Normally he’d be grossed out by that, but right now he finds he doesn’t mind. It isn’t until a soft pair of lips are brushing up against his, feather light, that he registers that this is  _ really _ happening. He’s kissing someone!

Richie’s lips start out faint, just a barely there brush, but after a few seconds he presses closer. It’s an odd sensation, certainly nothing Eddie’s used to, but he finds that he likes it. He likes it a lot. The pressure feels nice, and Richie’s lips are supple and slightly wet against his own.

It doesn’t last long at all before Richie’s pulling back, leaving Eddie feeling a little dazed. Richie’s hand slips from Eddie’s cheek, and Eddie hears him chuckle.

“You can open your eyes now,” Richie says.

When Eddie does, he’s met with the sight of a grinning Richie. He’s still close, close enough that Eddie can see the freckles speckling across his nose and cheeks, can see the slight fog of his glasses, can clearly see that Richie’s lips have a certain shine to them and a hint more color, too. They’re pretty, really pretty. Huh.

“So,” Richie starts, flicking his eyebrows up. “Your first kiss— how was it? Did I give you everything you could have ever dreamed of?”

Eddie pauses to think on it. “It was… good,” he decides, then nods to confirm his conclusion. “It was good.”

“Well, thanks, Eds,” Richie replies smugly. “You weren’t so bad yourself. Though, I hate to burst your bubble, but you don’t hold a candle to the sweet, gentle kisses your mothe—”

“ _ Richie I swear to god _ !”

Richie holds up his hands before Eddie can throw any harmless punches, and he backs up out of Eddie’s space. “Right, right. Forgot, I forgot!”

The warmth of Richie’s body now missing, Eddie kind of regrets making a big deal over that. He liked the way Richie’s body felt against his own; the closeness was nice. He has to bite back the smile of his own that tugs at his freshly kissed lips. No way he’s letting Richie know just how much he enjoyed it. He’d never hear the end of that. “Hey, Rich?” He asks. “D’you think we could… try it again?”

“Sure,” Richie responds, nodding. “Practice makes perfect, right? And I know I’m pretty damn close to perfect, but a little extra practice never hurt no one.”

“Does anything cool ever come out of your mouth?” Eddie asks, rolling his eyes.

Richie pouts “Aw, Eds, baby, I thought you didn’t wanna try it with tongue.” He winks lecherously, then starts to cackle when Eddie glares at him.

Once Richie calms down again, they shuffle back into position. This time Eddie feels less nervous about what’s going to happen. In fact, he’s looking forward to it, eager for it to happen.

“You take the lead this time,” Richie suggests. “It’ll be good practice.”

Eddie nods and brings one hand up to curl around Richie’s waist and the other to his cheek— just like Richie had touched him earlier. Taking initiative is easier than he thought, and before he knows it, Eddie’s leaning in, eyelashes fluttering against his cheek, and his lips are meeting Richie’s again.

The gentle brush of lips is shorter this time, before Eddie presses his mouth more insistently against Richie’s.

But just like the first, the second doesn’t last much longer than a few seconds. And thankfully, too.

They’ve only just split apart when Richie’s bedroom door flies open and Bridget Tozier bursts in. “Richie!” She yells as Eddie and Richie jump out of each other’s space. Bridget doesn’t look up from where she’s punching in some numbers on her big block of a cell phone. “Dinner’s ready! Mom said you and Eddie have to help set the table.” Bridget doesn’t stick around after that, just turns on her heel and flounces back to the kitchen.

Eddie’s heart hammers in his chest, and he lets out a breath, followed by a tumble of adrenaline-spiked giggles. He and Richie share a look and their laughter only doubles.

“Fuck, that was close,” Richie says, sagging back against his dresser. “Can you imagine the shit show Bridge woulda put up?” 

“You’re telling me!” Eddie responds, shaking his head in disbelief. 

“Come on,” Richie starts, hopping to his feet. He stops in front of Eddie and holds out a hand. “All that makin’ out’s made me hungry.” A lopsided grin takes over his face.

Eddie snorts and places his hand into Richie’s letting himself be helped up. “Me too,” he agrees.

“I’m so hungry I could eat a horse— no, I could eat your  _ whole mom _ !” Richie shrieks with laughter as he drops Eddie’s hand and bolts down the stairs to escape Eddie’s inevitable wrath.

“Richie, you fu— brat!” Eddie hollers before racing after him like a bat out of hell.

And as he chases after his best friend, Eddie shoves those weird, lingering feelings stirred up by their two kisses to the back of his mind. He can deal with those later.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday everyone! Thank you for the incredible response to this fic so far! Enjoy chapter 2!

Over the course of the next few weeks, those two kisses with Richie are all Eddie can think about. So much so that his regular preoccupation with the dangers and risks of catching whatever disease from whatever everyday item has taken the back burner. He’s not sure if it’s the kissing part he likes more, or if it’s the kissing  _ Richie _ part.

But it’s something he doesn’t expect to dwell on much longer. Not when one day at lunch Heather Holloway herself approaches Eddie and asks him if he’d like to join her at the ice cream shop after school. A  _ date _ . Eddie’s so surprised by it that it isn’t until Stan elbows him sharply in the ribs that he finally speaks up and accepts. The rest, as they say, is history.

Suddenly, Eddie has a girlfriend, a  _ real live _ girlfriend. And Heather is great. She’s the perfect girlfriend, wonderful in every way, and Eddie should like her  _ so much _ . But Eddie can’t stop his mind from drifting off to those kisses with Richie every time they’re together.

Part of Eddie thinks it might just be because he’s nervous about kissing Heather. They haven’t gotten there yet, but they’ve been dating long enough now that it feels like it’s just around the corner. Bill had told Eddie that he and Jenny Lancaster kissed after two weeks together.

So Eddie chalks his nerves up to that and figures he’s only replaying those kisses and the way they felt to keep all of Richie’s tips and tricks at the forefront of his mind. That  _ must _ be it.

Except, when the time comes and Eddie finally does get that kiss from Heather, it doesn’t hold a candle to the ones he shared with Richie.

Eddie doesn’t quite know what to make of that.

Kissing Heather Holloway is… kind of gross. Her mouth is sticky from her lip gloss, which tastes like disgusting artificial strawberries, emphasis on the artificial. It’s wetter than kissing Richie had been, and, oh god, had that been her tongue that touched his lip? Richie said that wouldn’t happen! 

Heather’s softer all around, too, and a bit more reserved about it all. Her hands stay by her side, not daring to touch Eddie anywhere, and he’s partially grateful for that. But also confused. Her shoulders aren’t as broad as Richie’s either.

The whole thing is much different than kissing Richie had been, and Eddie finds himself wishing that she were Richie instead. He’d liked that so much more.

It’s a thought that eventually leads to him breaking things off with Heather. Eddie feels terrible about it, because she really had been so nice. But she deserves better than Eddie, with his constant dwelling on Richie and their kisses and the uncertainty of what it all means swirling around in his brain. He never even properly liked her, and try as he might, he can’t force himself to. He doesn’t feel good leading Heather on like that.

This, of course, sends Eddie into a brand new spiral that has him questioning everything about himself, everything about his preferences. Up until this point he’d assumed he liked girls— though, thinking back on it, how can he really be sure about that? He’s never really had a crush on any of the girls in their class. And when Bill and Ben were mooning over Beverly, and the others sported a small fascination with her femininity for a brief stint, Eddie never had. He’d just seen her as another one of the guys. Then there was that time when Bill brought that dirty magazine he’d found to the clubhouse. Mike and Stan and Richie had crowded around it to flip through the pages ogling the ridiculous poses and the virtually naked women. Even Ben had joined in at one point, though he’d been as red as a firetruck the whole time. Eddie hadn’t been interested in looking at it at all. He’d told himself that it was because he respected women too much to look at them like that, but maybe there had been more to it than just that. 

Eddie hadn’t ever given liking  _ boys _ a single thought. Mostly because his mother had practically drilled it into his head that boys that liked boys are  _ dirty _ , that they’re  _ sick _ . That boys who like boys end up dead.

But Eddie didn’t feel dirty. He didn’t feel sick. Hell, he felt more like that kissing Heather than he had kissing Richie. Kissing Richie was new and exciting and  _ so  _ good. Kissing Heather couldn’t even compare.

The first time he’d tried saying it out loud,  _ I’m gay _ , he’d been alone in the clubhouse. It had taken a few tries to get the words out, but once he’d said them he didn’t burst into flames, or suddenly start hacking up a lung, and boils didn’t break out all over his body either. It hadn’t felt wrong saying it either. It felt  _ right _ . New, and a little foreign on his tongue, but  _ right _ .

Eddie had still worked himself into a right panic over what that meant, though. He knew what happened to people like that… like  _ him _ , in Derry.

Beverly had found him sitting in the dirt on the clubhouse floor, crying and hyperventilating into his hands. She’d helped him find his inhaler and slow his breathing until he had it under control again. Before he even knew what he was doing, he had found himself spilling everything.

And Bev… god, she’d been an angel. Sitting patiently as Eddie choked the words out, listening attentively and not interrupting, just encouraging him to continue. She’s even rubbed his back and offered him tissues when he started to cry again.

Once the sniffling had slowed, Bev pulled Eddie into her side and leaned in close to whisper into his ear. “Sometimes I think about kissing girls, too,” she said. 

Eddie had just wiped at his nose with the tissue, ignoring how gross he felt thanks to all the crying, and gave Bev a confused look. “But I don’t want—  _ oh _ .”

Bev just smiled warmly at him and nodded. “Yeah, oh, dummy,” she said, not unkindly though.

“You do?” Eddie asked.

Bev nodded again. “I like both,” she responded with a small shrug.

“Oh,” Eddie repeated. “I… Bev, thank you for telling me.”

“Thank  _ you _ for telling  _ me _ . I know you might not have meant to, but I’m glad you did. I’m proud of you for being able to say it. And for trusting me enough to say it to me.”

Eddie just gave Bev a wobbly smile.

“And I’m not going to tell anyone, okay? You’re going to be alright, Kaspbrak.” She paused for a moment, before adding, much softer, “It’s nice knowing I’m not alone, y’know?”

A rush of warmth filled Eddie’s chest and he dropped the tissue to the side so he could pull Beverly into a hug. Their arms wound around each other and they held on tight, bonded by a whole new secret.

After a few seconds they broke apart, and Bev nudged Eddie gently. “So who was it that made you figure this out?” She asked, the corner of her lips pulling up almost knowingly.

Eddie’s cheeks felt hot, and he ducked his head a little, bashful. How could she have known there was someone?

The full shine of Bev’s smile broke through her attempts to tame it and she nudged him again. “Come on, we all have someone that made us realize.”

And, well, Eddie had already come this far. He figured it really couldn’t hurt to tell her the rest. To tell her  _ everything _ . He knew he could trust her with it. So he told Bev. About the kissing. The practice kissing. About how with Richie it had been nice. How he hadn’t even been worried about the germs and the risk of Mono or mouth sores or anything like that. How he hadn’t wanted it to stop. And how kissing Heather hadn’t been like that at all. Instead it had been sticky and unpleasant and couldn’t end fast enough.

“Sounds like you might like Richie,” Beverly pointed out with a giggle.

Eddie opened his mouth to immediately deny, but when his lips parted no words fell out. He fish mouthed for a minute before clamping his jaw shut and fixing Bev with wide eyes.

It made sense. It really did. He’d always felt more attached to Richie than he had with any of the other Losers. And it wasn’t anyone else’s attention he was always trying to get; it was Richie’s. He wanted those eyes on him, wanted his conversation aimed at him, wanted any reason to accidentally brush up against him or physically lash out just so he had an excuse to touch him.

_ Holy shit, he liked Richie _ .

Bev smiled again and touched Eddie’s arm comfortingly, bringing him back to the clubhouse floor and their conversation. “I think that’s really sweet, Eddie,” she said.

“You do?” Eddie asked again.

Bev nodded earnestly. “Yeah. I don’t think I really realized what it was before now, but there’s something about the two of you together. I see it. You go all soft around him sometimes. When you think nobody’s looking.”

Eddie blushed, ducking his chin to his chest. Was he really that obvious? But then again, how obvious could it be if  _ he _ hadn’t even realized what it meant?

Beverly laughs, melodic and light. “Don’t worry. Richie’s oblivious,” she reassures. “And like I said, your secret’s safe with me.” She holds out her pinky finger.

Eddie sticks his out and links it with Bev’s twisting their fingers into a promise.

Beverly is the first person Eddie comes out to. He feels a little bad that it wasn’t Richie. After all, he’s his best friend, whom he’d trust with his life, so secrets shared between the two of them were always kept under tightly locked lips.

But Richie was the catalyst for all of this, and Eddie’s not quite sure how he wants to explain himself yet. And he certainly has no clue if he wants to let Richie in on his feelings for him.

Beverly understands Eddie in a way Richie can’t right now, so he finds himself spending much more time with her than usual. Telling her about his feelings and his sexuality, and hearing her share more about her own as well has brought them closer than they’d ever been before. 

It’s nice. Eddie enjoys Bev’s company, and he likes hearing the way she talks about all of this. It eases his mind about a lot of things, the way she seems to be handling it. Not only that, but it also makes him more comfortable in his own skin. Bev’s not dirty. She’s not sick. She’s the coolest, toughest girl Eddie knows. She’s brave, and she’s strong, and she’s smart. And her liking girls too doesn’t change any of that about her. Which leads him to start believing that his liking boys doesn’t change anything about him either.

And the more sure about himself Eddie gets, the more he wants to share his new discovery with the others. Richie, especially. He and Bev have discussed it at great length, Eddie bouncing back and forth between wanting to tell them, at least about his sexuality, and keeping it to himself. Bev had reassured him that she didn’t think they would think anything different of him; after all, they’re Losers, and being different, being outcasts is what brought them all together in the first pace.

It’s that point that becomes Eddie’s deciding factor. He’s going to do it. He’s going to tell the others that he’s gay. But he decides that he wants to tell Richie first, outside of the group.

Except before he gets the chance to, Richie’s sitting Eddie down with some news of his own. And Richie’s news blows Eddie’s far out of the water; hell, Richie’s news makes Eddie even forget he has any of his own.

Richie and his family are moving.

Apparently, his father got promoted— which Eddie thinks is fantastic! He didn’t even know dentists could get promoted, but he thinks that’s pretty great. Until he learns that the promotion requires Richie’s dad to relocate to  _ California _ , all the way on the complete other side of the country, which of course means he’ll be taking his entire family with him. Richie included.

It absolutely crushes Eddie.

So instead of finding time to bring Richie up to speed on his recent self discoveries, Eddie focuses on making the most of his last few weeks with Richie at his side.

He spends every moment he can get glued to Richie’s side. It’s even clingier than he usually is, but nobody comments on it. Eddie suspects nobody would really blame him for it, he’s about to be pulled apart from his best friend.

When they head down to the clubhouse, Eddie doesn’t complain about Richie hogging the hammock, and Richie doesn’t argue when Eddie smushes himself into it beside Richie and reaches for another comic. When they splash around in the Quarry, Eddie indulges Richie’s requests for him to be his partner in a game of chicken, and he only grumbles a little bit when Richie falls over and ends up dragging Eddie underwater with him. When Richie calls him “Eds” or “Eddie Spaghetti” he doesn’t tell him to quit it or to fuck off. Instead he cherishes each one and his heart pangs at the thought that he won’t have anyone calling him increasingly ridiculous nicknames anymore. He’s always secretly loved them.

And then the last day comes and Eddie feels like he could cry. He  _ does _ cry, actually.

All of the Losers biked to Richie’s house to see him off on his last morning in Derry. The Tozier car sits in the driveway, every inch of the trunk packed with suitcases and any box that could fit. There are even a few things strapped onto the roof of the car.

It hits Eddie then, as he watches Maggie and Wentworth Tozier check and double check and triple check that they have everything they need, that this is really it. This is the last time he’s going to see Richie Tozier.

The Losers all take turns giving Richie big hugs and whispering their goodbyes and their promises to stay in touch. Richie’s already given everyone his new address with the request that they all write to him, and when he writes back with his new phone number, that they call, too.

When it’s finally Eddie’s turn with Richie, he almost feels sick. He doesn’t want this to be the last time he sees Richie. It  _ can’t _ be. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do without his best friend teasing him through the day.

The two of them are drawn to each other like magnets, crashing together and throwing their arms around each other as tightly as possible. Eddie cries into Richie’s shoulder, and Richie cries into his hair. Neither one would admit to anything other than dry eyes, if anyone asked.

Nobody asks, though.

Eddie has the fleeting thought that he should tell Richie now. That if he doesn’t say the words before he leaves he may never get the chance again. After all, it’s not exactly something he wants to do through a letter or over the phone. But even though he’s almost sure Richie wouldn’t hate him for his sexuality, Eddie doesn’t want to chance that the last memory he has with Richie is a rejection. He doesn’t want to end so many years of friendship like that. So he swallows the urge down and hugs Richie tighter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Wednesday, my dudes, so you know what that means? New chapter!! 
> 
> Also, a little progress report, I've made even more progress on the end of this fic, but while trying to figure out a good scene to end on, I might have decided to add a whole new scene that I didn't originally have planned... Stay tuned!
> 
> Now, I hope you all like this chapter!

It’s been a long time— just about twenty-seven years, to be exact— since Eddie last saw Richie. Since they lost contact with each other. He still doesn’t know why they fell out of contact. Just knows that as the months went on, the letters and the phone calls began to dwindle. The last time Eddie talked to Richie, Richie had to cut the call short, but he’d promised that he’d call the very next day. Only that call never came. Eddie remembers sitting by the phone every day after school for almost two whole weeks, desperately clinging onto the ever thinning thread of hope that today would be the day Richie made good on his promise.

He never did.

But just because it’s been so long since they’ve last had contact, and just because things ended like that, doesn’t mean that Eddie doesn’t find himself thinking about Richie every once in a while. After all, Richie was the most important person in Eddie’s life, aside from the rest of the Losers, but even then, Richie had always been his number one. He’d done so much to shape Eddie’s world. He was his very best friend for so many years, and he was his first love, too. The one that opened his eyes to who he really is.

That’s not someone he can just forget.

Eddie thinks he’s doing alright without him, though. He’s a fully functioning adult; he has a job, he pays his bills, he does his own laundry, he grocery shops. Which is exactly what he finds himself doing. Grocery shopping. He’s got his messily scrawled out shopping list in one hand, while the other steers his half-full cart towards the next aisle.

He’s already hit the produce section as well as the meats, and at least a third of the dried goods aisles have been walked, too, which means he’s nearing the end of his trip. Eddie’s very methodical about his grocery shopping, having a particular order for how he does it. He glances down at his list, scanning over the neatly crossed out items until he spots the next one that isn’t.  _ Spaghetti noodles _ . Eddie cracks a grin at that, and the wispy memory of a thirteen year old Richie slinging his arm around thirteen year old Eddie’s neck and affectionately calling him “Eddie Spaghetti”, much to his outward annoyance, but inward pleasure, comes to mind.

Eddie shakes the memory off and steers the cart towards the pasta aisle, careful to avoid getting hit by the child that’s riding the cart like a scooter while their frustrated mother chases after him. He can’t help but think of Richie because of that, too.

The aisle is empty when Eddie turns down it, and he makes his way to the end where the vast array of pastas are shelved to the right. Stopping in front of it, he pauses and narrows his eyes at the boxes, searching for spaghetti noodles.  _ Elbows. Fusilli. Penne. Rigatoni. Shells. Ah, spaghetti, there we go _ . There’s only one box left, and Eddie thinks himself lucky as he reaches for it.

But just as his hand closes around one end of the box, another hand hooks onto the other end.

“Excuse me,” Eddie starts, already gearing himself up for one hell of an argument with an overzealous soccer mom over spaghetti noodles. He sighs quietly under his breath, not bothering to hide his irritation, and starts to turn. “I’m sorry, but this is the last box, and I really ne—” His words die on his tongue, and his eyes go wide as he stares at the pasta thief. His hand goes slack around the box of spaghetti, and it almost feels like the breath was punched out of him. Because, no… that can’t be… can it? Is that really…

“ _ Richie _ ?”

With Eddie’s grip all but gone, Richie Tozier’s able to pull the box of pasta from the shelf and slip it into his basket. But the second Eddie says his name, he freezes and his eyes fly up to Eddie. “Holy fucking shit,” he breathes, just as surprised as Eddie. Disbelief twinkles in his eyes, which sit comically wide behind an only marginally upgraded pair of modern coke-bottle glasses. Same old Richie. 

“Eddie? Eddie Spaghetti? Is that actually you?” He drags his gaze up and down Eddie’s body, and Eddie feels himself flush a little under the scrutiny. But then Richie’s face breaks into a dazzlingly bright grin.

God, Eddie missed that. He missed that  _ so much _ .

“Just Eddie,” he replies, the outward refusal to accept anything but his actual name from Richie still strong even twenty-seven years later. “But yeah, it’s me.” He offers up a sheepish sort of grin and a one shouldered shrug. He knows he looks different, especially to Richie who hasn’t seen him since before puberty properly hit him, and definitely before he had his growth spurt (not that it really did anything for him but secure his place amongst the other men of just average height. Richie is still taller than him, he notes somewhat bitterly.)

“Holy shit,” Richie repeats, shaking his head. “I can’t believe it. Of all the gin joints, huh?” He laughs.

“No kidding,” Eddie agrees, chuckling along. When he woke up this morning, running into Richie was the absolute last thing he expected to happen today.

“I almost didn’t recognize you at first,” Richie says. “But then I saw that polo shirt and I  _ knew _ .” He snickers and reaches out to flick at the top button that sits on Eddie’s collar.

Eddie’s too flooded by a certain nostalgia to knock his hand away like he would’ve twenty-seven years ago.

But then Richie’s hand moves up to his cheek, which he pinches a few times, grinning all the while. “Look at you, Eds! Still a cutie!”

This time Eddie  _ does _ swat at Richie’s hand, and he fights off a blush, too. “Asshole,” he bites out. “Don’t call me that.” Old habits die hard. Or just go into hibernation for almost three decades, so it seems.

Richie tips his head back and cackles a little, clearly pleased to hear that. It feels like no time has passed at all.

“For real, though,” he says once he stops laughing. “You look good, man.”

Eddie’s blush spreads further down his neck, and he hopes Richie’s adult enough not to comment on it. He always did used to get a kick out of being able to make Eddie blush.

“You look good, too, Rich,” Eddie returns. “You got taller,” he points out, laughing a little.

“Lost some baby fat, too,” Richie chuckles, drawing Eddie’s attention to the sharp angle of his jaw as he runs a hand across it. And boy, can Eddie see it; that jawline is insane. He’s got a thin layer of scruff going on, too, and normally Eddie would hate that, would think it looks unprofessional and lazy, but on Richie, it just looks really fucking good. He makes it work better than anyone else ever could.

“You didn’t lose the shitty Hawaiin shirts, either, I see,” Eddie comments, jerking his chin towards the one Richie’s wearing. It’s an almost garish mustard yellow color with tiny pineapples all over it. On anyone else it would be horrendous. 

Richie’s grin turns wolfish. He tugs on either side of the shirt where it hangs open against his chest and spins in a complete circle right there in the middle of the aisle so Eddie can get the full picture. “What? You don’t like pineapples?” He asks.

Eddie can only snort at his ridiculousness and shake his head fondly. “You haven’t changed,” he says.

Richie’s forehead wrinkles up and he frowns at Eddie. “Don’t be ridiculous, Eds. ‘Course I’ve changed. I was wearing bananas yesterday.” 

It’s been so long that Eddie’s immunity to Richie’s dumb jokes has diminished, and there’s no stopping the bleat of laughter that’s punched out of him.

“I can’t believe you’re really here,” Eddie says, changing the subject again. “I thought you’d still be in California. What are you doing in New York? Do you live here now? And the rest of your family! Your parents and sister. Are they still in California? How are they? How’s Bridget?” Eddie’s vaguely aware that he’s just rattled off a whole laundry list of questions, that he’s totally bombarded Richie with them, but he can’t help himself. There’s so much he wants to catch up on, and he’s definitely interested in finding out how long he’ll have to do so.

Richie’s eyebrows lift and he holds up his hands. “Woah there cowboy,” he laughs, looking thoroughly amused by Eddie’s motormouth.

Eddie only feels guilty for a moment before he remembers that Richie was one of the only ones who could properly understand him whenever he went off on one of his hyperactive monologues. “What? Can’t keep up anymore, old man?”

“Fuck no,” Richie says, barking out a bright laugh. “I haven’t heard someone flap their jaw that fast in forever, man. I missed that.” He goes all soft in the face for a second, too quick for Eddie to make anything of it, though.

“Um, let’s see. Alright, so. What am I doing in New York? I moved here. I live here now. Imma New Yorka’ now,” Richie says, slipping into a truly terrible New York accent at the end. “The rest of my family is doing well. Ol’ Maggie and Went moved to Florida a few years back. Something about it being a good place to retire.” Richie shrugs. “Bridget’s here in New York, too. Actually, she’s part of why I moved here.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow at that.

“She just had another baby,” Richie says, and that softness returns, settling around his eyes and pulling at his mouth. It’s totally, completely endearing.

Eddie’s face probably isn’t all that far off from Richie’s, though. Bridget, with a baby! With  _ two _ babies! “Another?” Eddie echoes. And god, twenty-seven years really is a long time, isn’t it? The last Eddie remembers of Bridget Tozier is her obsession with leg warmers and that half up half down scrunchie tied hairdo that all the girls in the eighties were sporting. And braces. He couldn't forget the braces. Richie teased the hell out of her for it, which backfired on him when  _ he _ ended up needing them.

Richie nods. “Yeah, she got married like ten years ago, and she and her husband had their first kid three years later. My niece, Molly, she’s seven. Cutest little rugrat ever, I swear. It’s those Tozier genes, man. We’re all just so damn adorable.” Richie laughs. “They moved up here a few years back because of her husband’s job. I didn’t really like how far away she was, but I couldn’t do anything about it for a while because of  _ my _ job. But when she told us she was pregnant again, I knew I needed to find a way to relocate. I already missed two years of Molly growing up, and there’s no way I want to miss out on the newest little tyke growing up, either,” he explains. “Besides, I missed the East Coast. Not Derry, though. Fuck that place.”

“The fun uncle duty calls,” Eddie jokes, earning a sharp bark of laughter from Richie. “That’s really great, though. I don’t know if she remembers me, but tell her I said congratulations.”

“Of course she remembers you, Eddie,” Richie scoffs. “You were over, like, all the time, man. You were her favorite of my friends. She told me once she liked how ‘good an influence you were on me’,” he laughs, and they both know how wildly incorrect that is. Richie and Eddie constantly egged each other on; it was just because Eddie was a polite kid around adults that hid the fact that he was as equally a terror as Richie was, especially when the two of them were together. “Y’know, she always used to ask me what happened. Why we stopped talking.” Richie trails off after that and chews on his lip. 

“Yeah,” Eddie says slowly. “I always wondered that, too,” he admits, voice softer. He didn’t mean for things to take a turn for the heavy, and he isn’t putting all the blame on Richie for their loss of contact. After all, he could have made more of an effort to find out  _ why _ Richie stopped calling. He guesses he’d just been a little too heartbroken and a little too scared to learn the reasons behind it.

There’s an awkward note to the air that lingers for a few moments, weighing down on them both. It’s clear Eddie’s not going to get an answer right now. But then Richie breaks the silence, and the awkwardness dissipates.

“Y’know,” Richie starts, a pensive note to his tone. “I’d, uh, I’d love to have you over sometime this week for dinner. If you want.” He sounds a little nervous, like he’s not sure how Eddie will respond, but when he glances up from his shoes to look at Eddie, there’s a hopeful little smile curving his mouth. “I could use an excuse to break in my new kitchen, and I can even make this spaghetti so you don’t miss out on it, ‘cause there’s no way I’m letting you steal it from me,” he says, lifting the box of spaghetti noodles Eddie had completely forgotten about. He gives it a little shake. “I don’t normally condone cannibalism like that, but I’ll make an exception for you, Eddie Spaghetti,” he adds with a grin. “I promise it’ll be good.”

Eddie shoots him a little glare for that, but then lifts a brow at Richie. “Since when the fuck can you cook?” He asks.

A mock offended gasp falls from Richie’s lips and he reaches up to clutch at his nonexistent pearls. “How very dare you question my kitchen skills like that,” he chides. Eddie instantly recognizes that southern belle accent Richie loved to grace them all with when they were kids. It hasn’t exactly improved. 

“Rich, you exploded a cream filled donut in the microwave because you thought it needed to be heated up for  _ five minutes _ ,” Eddie points out, deadpan.

“Your memory must be pretty shit, dude, because I don’t remember that happening,” Richie retorts, crossing his arms over his chest in defiance. The grin he’s so desperately trying to hold back gives away that he very much remembers exactly what Eddie’s talking about. And the half an hour it took to clean out the microwave before Richie’s parents got home.

“Sure, sure,” Eddie replies, making it clear he doesn’t buy a single bit of Richie’s bullshit. 

“I’ll have you know I’ve always been nothing short of a stellar chef, thanks very much,” Richie continues. “I learned from the best. Your mom and I flew out to Paris together and spent a romantic evening learning how to whip up French cuisine.”

“Pasta is Italian, dipshit,” Eddie points out, narrowing his eyes at Richie. “And really, my mother? Twenty-seven years later and you’re still not over that?”

“Aw, Eds, my passionate love for your mother transcends time,” Richie says, a misty smile curling his lips. 

Eddie shakes his head disappointedly, but a hint of a smile tugs at the corners of his lips. He can’t help it.

He takes the lull in conversation as the opportunity to glance down at his watch, only to realize that he and Richie have been standing in the same aisle for the last twenty-nearing-thirty minutes. “Oh,” he says, blinking back up at Richie. “I should probably get going... gotta get home to put these groceries away before work.”

“Wouldn’t want that ice cream melting on you,” Richie grins, eyeing the pint of cookie dough Eddie’s got in his cart. “Shit, dude, aren’t you worried that’ll give you salmonella?” He asks, grinning.

Eddie presses his lips together into a thin line and sighs. “No,” he says. “And frankly, I don’t give a shit. I was deprived of cookie dough as a child, so I never knew how fucking good it is. I’m going to eat as much of this stuff as I can get now.”

“Atta boy,” Richie laughs. Then the laughter fades and that demure demeanor returns. “So, but, dinner, yeah?”

Eddie nods almost right away. “Dinner,” he confirms, ignoring the way his stomach somersaults at what that promises. “I would love that. How’s Friday sound?”

“Friday’s good,” Richie answers. “Friday’s really good, yeah.”

“Perfect,” Eddie says, sending Richie a small smile. “I’ll pencil it into my schedule.” 

Richie snorts, his grin widening as he shakes his head at Eddie. “And you say I’m the one that hasn’t changed. God, it’s been really great running into you, Eds. I really missed you.”

There’s a softness surrounding those words, and Richie looks like he genuinely means them, like he really is happy about seeing Eddie again. It’s enough to have something achingly familiar stir up in Eddie’s chest. His heart fluttering at Richie’s smile, at Richie’s jokes, at Richie’s mere presence. A childish giddiness thrumming through his veins. He thinks maybe he hadn’t so much as gotten over his crush on Richie as he’d just set it aside and let it go dormant all these years, only for it to be reawakened just by seeing him again.

_ Oh _ .

“I missed you, too, Rich,” Eddie replies, just as easy.

A moment passes between them before they decide to exchange numbers so they can keep in touch until they see each other next. And when Eddie finally leaves the grocery store he leaves with a flood of new-old feelings and dinner plans for Friday night.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday everyone!! And welcome to the penultimate chapter!! 
> 
> So I mentioned in the last chapter's author's notes that I decided to add another scene that I originally hadn't planned for and that is definitely happening lol. I'm so so very close to being done writing this and I'm hoping I'll be able to finish it today so that I'm ready to post the final chapter on Sunday. But I would just like to preface that with this: I know I'm supposed to post chapter 5 on Sunday due to the schedule I have, however, I do have like 3 papers to write for my classes that are all due like Monday so if for some reason I'm not able to finish writing the last chapter today it's likely I won't be able to finish it until after those papers are finished and turned in, as they are my priority this weekend. I do apologize if it comes down to this, but hopefully that won't be the case!! Keep an eye on my tumblr for progress updates if you're curious to find out what ends up happening with that! 
> 
> (Oh, and ps, this next chapter will require a ratings bump up ;) if ya know what I mean ;))
> 
> Anyways, sorry for this long note, and now, without further ado, chapter 4!! Enjoy!!

The rest of the week passes by both excruciatingly slow and incredibly quickly thanks to his impending plans with Richie.

Eddie’s definitely not at the top of his game in the office, too distracted by the blitz return of his childhood best friend, and the feelings that are inevitably tethered to him, to be bothered by silly things like  _ numbers _ and  _ statistics _ . But even working significantly below his own standards is still a whole lot better than some of the work his coworkers put forward, so Eddie isn’t too torn up about his lack of focus. He really hates his job sometimes.

Sometime during those few days he calls Beverly to tell her the news. He barely gives her the chance to say hello once she picks up his call before he blurts out that he ran into Richie at the grocery store.

“You saw  _ Richie Tozier _ ?” Bev repeats, a mixture of shocked and thrilled at the news. Richie leaving and losing contact had been hard on Bev, too. She and Richie had been close in their very own way. He’d been the first person she turned to about her father, something she’d revealed to Eddie, too, but much later after they got closer. Richie had been her rock in so many ways, helping her through so much that the rest of the Losers didn’t even know about.

Eddie makes a mental note to ask Richie if he can pass along his number to Beverly. He knows she’d love to catch up with him.

“I know, I can’t believe it either,” Eddie replies, laughing. He goes on to tell her a more detailed account of their run-in, and how Richie has barely even changed, still the same old obnoxiously charming trashmouth that he was twenty-seven years ago. If his phone still had a wire he’d probably be twirling it around his finger like a lovesick teenage girl as he recounts everything. The thought makes him blush.

“Did he call you ‘Eds’?” Beverly asks, giggling into the phone.

“Of course he did,” Eddie answers, pretending to sound annoyed with it. He’s far from it, though. He didn’t realize how much he missed all those ridiculous nicknames Richie had for him. Hell, he didn’t realize how much he missed a god damn  _ your mom joke _ . 

“Oh! Did he also call you—”

“Eddie Spaghetti? Yeah, that too,” Eddie finishes for Bev, and the two of them laugh. “He made a cannibalism joke with that one. Fuckin’ Richie Tozier, man.”

“A cannibalism joke?” Beverly repeats, sounding both highly concerned and highly intrigued.

Right, Bev doesn’t know about their dinner plans yet. Eddie almost forgot. (Except he really didn’t because that was kind of the whole reason he called her to tell her about any of this.)

“Oh, yeah, he invited me over to his place on Friday for a spaghetti dinner, so y’know, cue ‘Eddie Spaghetti’ and the inevitable cannibalism joke. He probably did that on purpose, now that I think about it.”

“Eddie, hang on. Did you just say Richie invited you over for dinner?” Beverly asks. Eddie can’t see her face but he’s pretty sure she’s wearing a huge grin. It sounds like she is.

“Um, yes,” Eddie says slowly. That blush returns full force, even though there’s no one there to see it.

“So, like, is Friday… well, is it a date?” Beverly questions. She pauses for a moment, to let her question sink in, before she adds in a softer voice, “Because it kind of sounds like it might be.”

And god, if that doesn’t get Eddie’s heart racing.  _ A date _ . It’s not like Eddie’s mind hadn’t immediately jumped there, too. Richie had invited him over  _ just the two of them _ so he could  _ cook for him _ . And he’d seemed  _ nervous _ about asking him. Eddie’s brain won’t stop screaming things like  _ domestic! _ and  _ intimate! _ and, most importantly,  _ date! _

But, logically, Eddie knows that’s not what it is. It  _ can’t _ be. He and Richie haven’t seen each other for twenty-seven years. This is just a chance for the two of them to catch up on all that lost time. Just two old friends reuniting and bring each other up to speed on their respective lives. And as far as he knows, Richie is  _ straight _ . 

“No,” Eddie answers, trying not to let the disappointment into his voice. “It’s not a date, Bev. It’s not like that. We’re just— it’s— y’know, two friends catching up. Twenty-seven years is a lot of time missed. It’s gonna take a lot longer than, like, drinking a cup of coffee will take, or something. Besides, we’re only going to his place because he wants to cook the spaghetti he stole from me, okay. It’s not anything more than that.” Despite how much Eddie might want it to be more than that. But that’s something he’ll shove down. He’s good at that. “Anyways, I’m pretty sure he’s as straight as they come, Bev, so, like, yeah. Not a date.”

There’s a snort from the other line, but then Beverly is quiet for a moment. “But you want it to be a date,” she finally says. Not asks. Is that all she picked up on from Eddie’s long rant? God, she knows him too well.

Eddie opens his mouth to reply, but the only thing that comes out are some half-formed noises from the back of his throat as he tries to find the right words. Eventually he concedes and blows out a long, defeated stream of air. “That obvious, huh? Is that… how pathetic is that? Twenty-seven years later and I’m still hung up on the same guy.”

Bev makes a soft noise on the other end of the line. “It’s not pathetic, hon. Richie meant a lot to you back then, for a lot of different reasons. And you never got closure for anything with him,” she says. “Everyone always says your first love sticks with you forever. You’re always going to love him, to a degree.”

It’s an only mildly comforting thought. Eddie appreciates it all the same. “Thanks, Bev,” he says, and he means it.

“Hey, but you are going to make sure you look hot as fuck when you go over there, right?” Bev asks. “You know, just in case.”

By the time Friday rolls around, Eddie’s practically vibrating with excitement at the prospect of seeing Richie again.

The two of them have been texting all week, in near constant contact. It had been so easy to slip back into the way things used to be between them. But texting isn’t the same as physically being with Richie, and the latter is so much more rewarding. Through text, Eddie can’t see the glimmer in Richie’s eyes right before he tells a particularly raunchy joke, and he can’t hear that infectious, high-pitched laughter of his. 

Eddie thinks Richie might be a little bit like a drug to him. He’d done so well recovering from going cold turkey from him, but just one tiny hit of him now is enough to send Eddie spiralling right back down that rabbit-hole.

When Eddie wakes up to a new message from Richie Friday morning that reads ‘ _ we still on 4 2nite _ ’ in that godawful text speak he’s unsurprisingly adopted, followed by a second message with a time and address, Eddie’s heart jumps into his throat and starts to pound erratically.

He ends up taking another trip to the grocery store, this time so he can select a nice bottle of wine to bring as a housewarming slash thank you for the dinner invitation gift. He doesn’t know if Richie has a preference for reds or whites, so he picks his own personal favorite and calls it good enough.

About halfway through the day, Eddie gets a text from Ben. ‘ _ good luck with Richie tonight!! _ ’ it reads. Bev must have passed on the news that Eddie ran into him. 

Ben knows almost everything there is to know about Eddie’s history with Richie. A privilege that comes with being Beverly’s other half. Though, Bev is still the only one who knows about the practice kisses that had started it all. Eddie never told any of the other Losers about that part when he came out to them. He’d left out the whole part about being in love with Richie, actually. Beverly and, subsequently, Ben are the only two that are aware of the feelings Eddie had— and, conveniently, still has— for Richie.

‘ _ Not a date but thanks!! _ ’ Eddie sends back, resisting the urge to tack on a few of those upside down smiling emojis. He thinks those work pretty well towards conveying his mood about all of this.

‘ _ Wear your good jeans, Richie’s an ass man _ ’ Beverly sends not long after in the thread consisting of just the three of them. Ben follows it up with a thumbs up emoji.

Eddie groans as he reads it. ‘ _ How the fuck do you know that??? _ ’ he replies. ‘ _ Also not a date!!! _ ’

Beverly just responds with an elusive single side smirking emoji.

Still, Eddie does take Beverly’s advice and fishes his good jeans out from the back corner of his closet. They’re the ones he wears when he goes out— which, really, isn’t that often. The jeans are practically aching to be worn again, it’s been a long while since the last time he’d taken them out for a spin. Bev and Ben both have told him countless times that this particular pair makes his ass and his thighs look incredible.

Eddie puts the jeans on and tells himself it’s only because the jeans make him feel good about himself, and not because he wants to look good for Richie. This isn’t a date, he  _ knows _ this.

At first, Eddie pulls on his favorite polo, a deep red color he really likes. But as he’s straightening the collar, he remembers how Richie teased the shit out of him for the polo he’d been wearing the other day at the grocery store, and he tugs the shirt off without a second’s hesitation, letting it fall to the floor in a small pile of red. He only does it because he doesn’t want to get mercilessly ribbed for it, that’s all.

He settles for a soft blue button up instead, but decides to leave the first two buttons tastefully undone rather than doing them all up like he usually does. It’s because it’s more casual, he tells himself. This isn’t a professional meeting, he doesn’t need to be so stuffy about the way he’s dressing. No ulterior motives here. 

He also rolls up his sleeves, exposing his forearms. Again, totally casual.

As he grabs his coat and his keys on his way out the door, he tells himself to relax.

The drive over to the address Richie provided isn’t a long one, surprisingly so. Even more surprising, Eddie finds a space to park right outside Richie’s building, and before he knows it he’s walking up the front steps.

Eddie shifts the bottle of wine into the crook of his arm so he can reach up to knock. Three simple raps of his knuckles against wood. A flurry of butterflies erupts in his stomach, nerves rearing up. His palms feel clammy, so he wipes them against the sides of his jeans. God dammit, it’s just dinner with Richie, it’s not like he’s meeting the queen or England or something. Why the fuck is he being like this?  _ Because it’s dinner with Richie _ , his mind supplies unhelpfully, and Eddie stifles the urge to let out a frustrated huff. He’s not fucking thirteen anymore, he’s a grown ass man. He can have a nice dinner with an old friend without getting  _ weird _ about it.

He’s about to lift his hand to knock again when faint cursing flows through the door, followed by the sound of a lock turning. The door swings open and then Richie’s standing right there in front of him. He looks very  _ clean _ , is the first thing Eddie notices. He’s wearing a soft grey henley that’s not wrinkled and is devoid any dumb sayings or cartoon pictures. Instead of sweatpants like Eddie half expected, he’s wearing a pair of dark wash jeans. They’re a little tighter than Eddie remembers jeans hanging on Richie, which leads him to believe that he’s trying to look nice, too. Eddie pointedly doesn’t linger on that thought.

Richie looks  _ good _ . And the way his whole face lights up when he sees Eddie makes him look even better.

“Took you long enough, fuckface. It’s fucking freezing out here,” Eddie blurts, taking a step forward to let himself in past Richie.

Richie laughs, but instead of stepping back to let Eddie inside, he curls his fingers around Eddie’s bicep and uses his leverage to pull him into a hug. His arms fit around Eddie’s shoulders, encompassing him entirely and pressing him up against Richie’s chest. Eddie’s cheek smushes against his collar.

Eddie’s caught off guard, but it isn’t long before he gets his bearings and relaxes into the hug. The overwhelming memory of the last time Eddie was wrapped up in Richie’s arms like this washes over him, and he has to swallow harshly around it. But then he presses himself more firmly into Richie and winds his free hand back around Richie to return the gesture.

Eddie buries his face into Richie’s neck and breathes in deep, letting his eyes shut tightly. Richie fills all of his senses, the way he feels, the way he smells, the way they fit together. It feels like coming home, being in Richie’s arms like this.

“I’m so glad you could make it, Eds,” Richie says into his hair before breaking the embrace and taking a step back. His arms fall from around Eddie and hang back at his side. 

Eddie misses them already.

“Uh, yeah, thanks for having me,” Eddie responds, head spinning still. He thrusts out the bottle of wine for Richie to take. “I brought you this,” he says and tries to ignore the way it feels very date-like.

Richie takes the bottle from Eddie and turns it to read the label. His lips curl wider and he peeks over at Eddie from around the bottle. “You trying to get me drunk, Spaghetti Head?”

“Fuck no.” Eddie barks out a laugh. “I’m just being a good guest. You’re already borderline unbearable sober. Drunk you is, like, ten times worse, man. I would never willingly get you drunk. You think you’re funnier when you’re drunk.”

“I  _ am _ funnier when I’m drunk,” Richie says and starts to walk backwards down the hallway, prompting Eddie to shut the door behind himself and follow him.

“You’re so fucking not,” Eddie replies, shaking his head. “You say the stupidest shit when you’re drunk. It doesn’t even make sense half the time.”

“That’s what makes it so funny, Eds.” Richie beams. “You don’t have to worry about that, though. It’ll take something a lot harder than mommy’s juice to get me sloshed,” he says, giving the wine bottle a little shake. “You on the other hand…” he trails off, grinning.

“Oh fuck you, I’m not a lightweight!” Eddie snaps, and if Richie wasn’t two steps ahead of him he’d slug him in the arm for that.

Richie holds up his hands in mock surrender, but he’s still wearing that playful look. “You said it, not me! But you so fucking are, man.” He snorts. “Remember that time Bev stole vodka from her dad and we all drank it down in the clubhouse? You thought you were hot shit and took, like, the biggest fucking swig I’ve ever seen a fucking kid take.” Richie breaks off, giggling so hard he can barely finish his thought as he recounts the memory. “The face you made…” he wheezes, “you looked like a fucking… oh, man, Eds, fuck. I almost threw up I laughed so hard.”

Eddie remembers that night perfectly. It had been… a fucking disaster, to put it one way. He’d never had a sip of alcohol in his life before that night, and for some reason he’d thought Richie would think he was  _ so cool _ if he did. He scrunches up his nose as he remembers what happened next. “I  _ did _ throw up,” he says, and just the thought of it makes him want to gag.

“I  _ know _ ,” Richie cackles. “Fuck, you were freaking out so bad. You thought you were going to die from, like, three fingers of vodka.”

“I was so embarrassed,” Eddie says, shaking his head. Even now that embarrassment creeping in at the edges. He’d been so eager to impress Richie that he’d made a total fool of himself.

“It was cute,” Richie shoots back, grinning.

Eddie makes a face. “How the fuck was me vomitting vodka  _ cute _ ?” He asks, then immediately holds a hand up. “Actually, no. Don’t answer that. I don’t want to fucking know.”

They make their way into the kitchen laughing. Richie sets the bottle of wine down and rummages through a drawer until he pulls out a bottle opener. He tosses it towards Eddie, who yelps out in surprise at the foreign object flying at his face, but his hands jerk up out of instinct and he catches it.

“Make yourself useful,” Richie says, jerking his chin towards the wine. “Glasses are in the cupboard above.”

Eddie shuffles over to the counter and pulls two glasses from the cabinet. They’re the big ones— the only kind Richie seems to own— and Eddie stifles a snort at that.

While he gets to work uncorking the bottle and pouring two generous glasses, Richie snags two plates from a different cupboard and starts to plate the spaghetti waiting in the big pot on the stove.

“Smells good,” Eddie comments, twisting his wrist and the bottle in that fancy way he learned to cut off the flow of the pour. “I’m surprised this place wasn’t burnt down. Or did you have a neighbor come cook for you?” Eddie teases.

“Fuck you, bro. This is all me,” Richie replies, heaping out a large serving onto the second plate.

Eddie grins and sets the bottle of wine aside. “I had to ask,” he says. He carefully lifts the two glasses and turns to bring them to the table. But when his eyes land on the table, he falters a little. There’s a crisp white tablecloth lying across the surface that looks new, and in the center sits a candle. It’s pretty dinky, clearly previously used, and the flame flickers aggressively, like it’s struggling to stay lit. But it’s still a candle. And candles are pretty fucking romantic. What the fuck.

_ Stop it, Eddie. He’s just trying to be an adult about this and make his home presentable. And plenty of restaurants have candles at the table no matter who’s sitting at it. It doesn’t mean anything. Stop overthinking. _

Eddie all but collapses into one of the chairs and immediately brings his glass to his lips. He takes a sip that rivals thirteen year old Eddie’s first sip of vodka, grateful that Richie’s back is still turned so he can’t see it.

Richie joins him a moment later, setting a steaming plate of pasta in front of Eddie before dropping into the seat across from him. He picks up his fork and sticks it right in the center of his spaghetti, then grins at Eddie. “Bon appetit, Eddie Spaghetti,” he says.

Eddie takes that as his cue to take his first bite and he picks up his knife and fork, cutting the pasta into smaller noodles and twirling some onto his fork. Upon sliding his fork past his lips, Eddie is pleased to find that Richie  _ can _ actually cook— or, he’s able to bullshit his way through a fairly simple dish, at least. Either way it’s pretty fucking good.

“What’s the verdict, Hannibal?” Richie asks, his own fork pausing poised halfway to his mouth. He’s got this expectant, hopeful glint in his eyes, like Eddie’s opinion is going to make or break his entire evening.

Eddie’s face scrunches up at the new nickname, not quite sure where that one’s coming from. But then he does realize and the confusion morphs into a scowl. “Hannib— oh, fuck you,” he bites out when the joke hits him. “That one’s getting real old,” he says, sending Richie a deadpan glare. “Don’t let this go to your head,” he starts off, twirling up another forkful. Eddie studies it for a moment, then meets Richie’s eyes. “It’s edible,” he finally declares, trying not to give away that he actually really likes it. He slides the bite into his mouth, unable to help the little hum of appreciation he gives around it.

Richie drops his fork to his plate, bite forgotten, and he pumps his fist through the air. “You like it, Spagheds! You  _ like it _ ! Hell yeah, point Tozier!”

Eddie doesn’t bother trying to deny it. “What are we keeping score for?” He asks, ignoring the way his cheeks warm at being called out so boisterously. It isn’t the first time his bluffs have been called by Richie, but it’s been a while. He almost forgot how nice it feels to be the one to make Richie smile that big.

Richie shrugs and picks his fork up again, shoving another bite of spaghetti into his mouth. “I dunno, but I’m winning,” he replies around the bite.

And it’s disgusting, talking with his mouth full like that. But somehow Eddie finds himself  _ endeared _ , too. It’s revolting. What’s happening to him? 

There’s a smudge of red sauce that missed Richie’s mouth and sticks to the corner of his lips, and Eddie has the urge to reach across the table and wipe it off.

“You’re disgusting,” he says instead. “Wipe your face, you pig,” he adds, tossing his napkin at Richie.

Richie catches the napkin before it falls into the spaghetti— Eddie never said he had a good throwing arm, and besides, the napkin weighs next to nothing so the aerodynamics are partially to blame too— and does as he’s told. Then he throws it back at Eddie, who flinches as the big red stain flies right at him.

“Asshole,” he frowns, swatting at the napkin so it doesn’t hit him. It lands just shy of his own plate of spaghetti.

Richie just grins and stuffs more spaghetti into his mouth.

Conversation flows easily between the two after that. Eddie learns that Richie tried the comedy thing for a while, but never got his feet off the ground with it, so while he still looks for his big break, he’s taken up a job at a local radio station. They’d given him his own show. He ended up loving having his own show, which comes as no surprise. Richie getting to blab into a microphone for hours on end sounds exactly like something he’d love. He’s still giving stand up a shot, accepting gigs at small clubs and bars, but he’s not so pressed to make it big time as long as he still has his radio show.

Eddie, in return, tells Richie about his own job, which he absolutely does not love as much as Richie loves his own. He’s kind of embarrassed about it, truth be told. It’s more than clear that Eddie just settled with the job, and even though he desperately wants to leave and find something else to do, he’s too afraid to.

They work backwards from that, talking about the new schools and new friends and new adventures. The ‘but it sure wasn’t the Losers’ is unspoken, but it’s there. 

Eventually Eddie goes for seconds, and Richie lords that over him, launching into an overly enthusiastic, musical rendition of, “Eddie likes the spaghetti, Eddie likes the spaghetti!”

But it isn’t until they’re standing at the sink cleaning up the dishes— which, no surprise, Eddie insisted they do— that Eddie asks the question that’s been bothering him for twenty-seven years now. “So, uh, why didn’t you ever call? After that day?” Eddie asks, scrubbing the sponge harshly over a bit of tomato sauce that’s crusted onto the edge of the plate. He keeps his eyes down as he asks. “It’s just… I waited for it? And it, uh, it never came. And I just— it’s— I’ve been wondering. What happened. Um, why you never called.” He runs the clean plate beneath the water once more then holds it out for Richie to take. Eddie chances a glance at Richie as he does so to find a pained look covering his face. He winces. “Shit, sorry. That was forward. I wasn’t trying to— I mean, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, it’s fine, Eds,” Richie interrupts, accepting the plate from Eddie. He starts to dry it, slowly. “I think it’s something I’m going to regret for the rest of my life, probably. And, like, it sounds so stupid when I say it out loud. But, uh, the next day there was this really big storm. Like, thunder, lightning, flash flood warnings. The whole shebang. I think they said it was supposed to be the worst storm LA’s seen in a few years. Go figure.” He chuckles bitterly and sets the dried plate aside, taking the next one from Eddie. He seems thankful for the excuse to keep his hands moving. Richie never was one to keep still very long, certainly not during serious conversations. “But it cut the power for most of the day, and when it finally came back we found out the storm totally fried the phone lines. And my parents weren’t, like, super concerned because we didn’t get a lot of phone calls, y’know. So they didn’t bother getting it replaced right away. They thought we could save some money, too, not having a phone for a while. And Bridge and I begged them to fix it, because, like, how were we supposed to stay in touch with our friends from Derry, right. But they didn’t really care so they didn’t fix it for a while. And I’m talking, like, at least a month and a half. And then by the time they did replace it, it had been so long that I kind of figured you’d be so pissed about me disappearing like that that you might not even pick up if I called, so I just. I didn’t. I didn’t want to chance it.”

Eddie pauses, sponge halting against the rim of the pot the spaghetti was in. “Wait—” he starts, brows furrowing together as he wraps his head around Richie’s explanation. “You’re telling me you thought it was better to never call again rather than find out I was angry with you?” He asks, a bit of a bite to his tone.

“So you were angry with me?” Richie asks, sounding small.

Eddie can’t help the humorless laugh that bubbles up. “I mean, yeah, at first I was,” he tells him. And truth be told, some of that anger is returning to him now. He can’t help it; Richie’s reasoning is so batship stupid. But it also is completely consistent with Richie. He’s always been a little bit afraid of being abandoned. But Eddie never would have guessed that fear would lead him to doing the abandoning.

“You just dropped off the face of the earth, Rich,” Eddie says. “I thought our friendship meant more than that.” He hates that the hurt bleeds through, but this conversation is reopening old wounds. Even though twenty-seven years have passed, it never quite healed. Not really.

Richie lets out a pained whimper and drops the towel so he can scrub a hand over his face. He knocks his glasses askew, but doesn’t bother fixing them. “Fuck, Eds,” he breathes. “It did. It  _ does _ . And I’m so sorry I made you think it didn’t. I wasn’t really thinking of anyone but myself. Fuck.”

Eddie sets the pot down gently and wipes his hand on the side of his jeans before reaching out to cover one of Richie’s hands where it rests against the counter. “You’re so fucking stupid, Rich,” he says, but there’s no heat behind it, and the understanding smile he shows Richie conveys his true feelings about it. There are no hard feelings now; there’s no use for them.

“Oh, I’m well aware of that,” Richie replies, but the corner of his mouth twitches up into a matching smile. “It’s nice to hear you say so again, though. I needed a good reminder.”

“You know I would have picked up,” Eddie says. “I wouldn’t have stayed mad, either. Yeah, you probably would have gotten an earful about not sending a letter instead or anything, but, fuck, Richie. You’re my best friend. It would have been nice to know it wasn’t something I said.” 

Richie sighs softly. “I know. I’ve thought about that everyday since, I swear. I think part of me thought… thought that if I just cut things off then maybe I’d be able to get over you— guys. Get over you guys. The Losers,” Richie rushes out. “Because I didn’t think we’d ever see each other again, I mean we lived on opposite sides of the country, and I didn’t want to keep thinking about you and what you were doing without me and who else you were hanging out with. It, uh, it hurt too much. So I thought if I distanced myself it would go away. And I’d forget.”

Eddie frowns. Richie’s words hit home. He understands exactly where Richie is coming from. He’d tried to tell himself the same thing back then. That maybe Richie not calling was for the best. That he could try to get over him. To put his silly little crush behind him.

Except it had been way more than a silly little crush. Still  _ is _ more than a silly little crush.

Eddie takes his hand off of Richie’s and goes back to the pot in the sink. “I get it,” he says, and he means it. “All that matters now is that we did find each other again.” It’s a ridiculously sappy line, Eddie knows, and he goes all soft when he says it, but his heart surges in his chest all the same. He’s never really considered himself as someone who believes in fate and destiny and all of that shit, but there’s no way there isn’t some sort of divine intervention that made them reach for the same box of spaghetti in the grocery store. That couldn’t have been just a coincidence. A statistical anomaly of chance. No way.

Richie beams and reaches for the dish towel again. “Fuck, Spagheds. I’m a grown ass man, why do I feel like I’m about to  _ cry _ ,” he laughs.

Eddie snorts and grins back. He swallows around his own lump in his throat. “It’s ‘cause you’re a crier, man. Always have been. Remember how you used to fake sneeze every time there was a sad scene in a movie. You always blamed your sniffling on your ‘allergies’.” Eddie puts air quotes around ‘allergies’ and snickers.

Richie sticks an elbow into his side and pouts. “Why do you remember that?” He asks, shaking his head. “It really was allergies! Bill’s fucking hamster man!”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Sure,” he replies. “Bill’s fucking hamster,” he agrees, thought he still doesn’t buy that shit for one second.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are! The final chapter!! This has been a journey, oh boy!! 
> 
> I can definitely say with 100% certainty that I never expected this fic to end up this long lol but it did and I am THRILLED. I'm also super happy that I was finally able to finish this idea, because I've had it for probably over a year now just sitting in my wips folder waiting to be written. And now it finally has been!!
> 
> It's kind of funny because when I first started writing this last chapter I was worried it was going to be significantly shorter than all the rest, but hahahaha the words just kind of took over and I kpet writing and writing and that worry totally disappeared as this chapter outran all the rest in terms of length lol. Also, when I first started writing this I did not expect to be writing smut for it, but here we are. It's n ot anything graphic though because I wasn't feeling too much detail for it in this fic, so I stuck to a tasteful fade to black. Who knows, maybe sometime in the future I'll get around to writing some actual smut ;) we shall see. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has been following along, and thank you to those who have just started the fic now that it's completed haha. Thank you to everyone who has left kudos on it and who has left comments, I love reading everything you guys have to say about this!
> 
> I hope everyone has a happy Sunday, and for those who celebrate it, if I don't get another fic up before then (which I probably won't- thanks stupid essays to write instead lol) happy Thanksgiving!
> 
> Now, without further ado, the fial chapter!! Enjoy!!

Once the dishes have been properly cleaned and stowed back in their respective cupboards, Richie and Eddie retire to the living room with the bottle of wine. Richie insists that after a conversation like that the alcohol is much needed to reinvigorate the mood. Whatever that means.

Eddie accepts his second glass even though he doesn’t really want it. He’ll just sip at it a little. He notes that he did well in his selection, though. Earlier Richie had commented that on the rare occasions that wine is his poison of choice, this brand is one of his favorites to drink.

They spread out on Richie’s big leather sofa, each taking up opposite ends of it and continue to catch up and trade stories. The wine ends up long forgotten on the coffee table.

Richie’s stories are infinitely more fun than Eddie’s, but he still laughs unabashedly when Eddie scrounges up his funniest memory of work, which admittedly, is not as funny as he thinks. The sound is music to Eddie’s ears; it makes the butterflies in his stomach flap their wings in a frenzied flurry.

He’s feeling great, full of good food and good spirits, until Richie’s eyebrows shoot up and he gasps a little like he’s just remembering something important.

“Hey, so, I don’t know how this hasn’t come up yet. But, like, we’re adults man. Adults get married and shit. You’re not married, though, are you?” Richie asks, and Eddie freezes. “I don’t remember seeing a ring.” He gestures towards Eddie’s left hand, where his ring finger is conveniently hidden by the couch cushion.

Eddie’s heart jumps into his throat.  _ He was looking for a ring? Why was he looking for a ring? What does that mean? _

He shifts his hand so Richie can see it, in all of its wedding ring-less glory. “No, not married,” he tells him, pressing his lips into a line as he shakes his head.

Something changes in Richie’s expression. The crease between his eyebrows smooths out, eyes softening around the edges. It reminds Eddie of relief, a little. That’s a bit of an odd thing for him to be relieved about.

“My mom always wanted me to get married,” Eddie continues on when Richie doesn’t say anything. “She kept trying to set me up and shit, but uh. It was never right.”  _ Mostly because they were all women _ , he thinks but doesn’t say. He thinks back on all the frustrating phone calls and arguments he’d had with his mother about the women in his life and when he was planning on marrying one of them and giving her grandchildren and barely suppresses a shudder.

That gets a laugh out of Richie. “Ah, good ol’ Mrs. K,” he says. “She was never good at minding her own god damn business, was she?” He asks, but doesn’t wait for Eddie to give him an answer. He already knows the answer well enough. Instead Richie sits up and clutches at his heart, and Eddie prepares himself for the oncoming dramatics. “She wasn’t too torn up that we had to end our torrid love affair the way we did, was she? I thought I could make long distance work, but alas.” He holds the back of his hand to his forehead and pastes a dreamy, far off look on his face.

Eddie rolls his eyes so hard he’s afraid they might get stuck like that. Bev always teased him about that. The only one that rivaled his eye rolls back then was Stan, which made sense because he’d had to put up with Richie for far longer than the rest of them, having known each other first.

“You know that’s one thing I definitely didn’t miss about you,” Eddie says, shaking his head. Except that’s a bold faced lie because, fuck, he  _ had _ missed Richie’s stupid jokes about his mom. It had been such a constant in his life that suddenly not hearing them had been weird. Things felt empty. It almost makes him laugh, that he’s this sentimental over a your mom joke. 

Richie grins at Eddie, and he looks ready to congratulate himself on getting off such a good one, but Eddie interrupts him before he can.

“She actually passed away a few years ago,” Eddie tells him, and winces at the way the entire mood drops after that.

The smile slips off of Richie’s face and his eyes turn sympathetic. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry, Eddie,” he says. And Eddie knows he just means he’s sorry that Eddie had to go through losing a parent. Not that he’s sorry he made the joke. Or that she passed. As much as he joked about loving her, Richie was never Sonia Kaspbrak’s biggest fan. More like her most hated critic, really. He never liked her.

Eddie shakes his head and forces out a small laugh. “It’s fine, really,” he says. “I’m probably not a very good son for saying this, but it felt like a weight had been taken off my shoulders… when it happened.” 

The corners of Richie’s lip twitch and he bites down on his lip. Eddie can practically  _ hear _ the joke he’s so clearly holding back.

“That doesn’t make you a bad son,” he says instead. “She was a lot to handle.” That lascivious grin returns. “Trust me, I know,” he adds with a wink and a crude cupping gesture.

It’s effective in lightening the mood back up, which Eddie is thankful for. He still reaches over to shove Richie for that comment, though. “Jesus, Rich. Have some respect,” he snaps, but he doesn’t really mean it.

Richie lets his grin finally shine through, and he gives Eddie a helpless shrug. 

“So what about you?” Eddie asks, unable to stave off his own curiosity any longer. “You ever get married?” He’s under the impression Richie hasn’t, if the fact that he’d been able to pick up his entire life and move it to New York on such a whim means anything. And the state of his apartment does plenty to fuel that assumption; what’s put together so far screams Richie and definitely has a bachelor pad feel to it. But, as much as Eddie would like it to, that doesn’t rule out the possibility that there  _ is _ someone. Maybe not a wife, but a girlfriend is possible.

Eddie holds his breath as he waits for the answer and tries to keep the hopeful expression at bay.

Richie’s features twist up briefly, confusion bunching in his forehead and his nose and his eyes. But it’s gone as quickly as it appeared, and Eddie isn’t quite sure what to make of it. “Uh, no, definitely not,” Richie replies with an almost stilted laugh.

Relief floods through Eddie and erupts out of him in his own laugh. “You never really struck any of us as the settling down type,” he says. And it’s true. The Losers had many a conversation about their futures back in the day, and none of them ever really guessed Richie would be married. It wasn’t because they didn’t think he  _ could _ , more that they didn’t think he’d  _ want  _ to. Despite all of his jokes about fucking, he never really showed an interest in any of the girls in town.

Richie frowns, like Eddie’s comment hurt. “It’s not that I don’t want to,” he says. “I do. Want to settle down.” He sounds earnest about it, like it really is something he hopes to one day be able to do. “I’m in the same boat as you, I guess.”

“You— what?” Eddie blurts, heart rate picking up. Same boat as him? He couldn’t be talking about the whole transcending-feelings-for-your-best-friend-that-have-really-kept-you-from-having-a-successful-relationship-with-anyone-else thing, could he?

“Yeah,” Richie continues. “I just haven’t found the right person yet,” he finishes.

“Oh,” Eddie says, deflating like a balloon. He tries to be subtle about it.

Richie’s eyes linger on Eddie’s a beat longer before he drops them to his hands in his lap.

And suddenly, the balloon fills back up. What was that look for? Talk about mixed signals.

But before Eddie can really start to overthink it, Richie perks up again and jumps into a new string of conversation. “Oh, so you remember how I was telling you I’ve been picking up some stand up gigs here and there?” He asks, bouncing in his seat a little. He looks like an overexcited child, bursting at the seams to tell mommy and daddy about what he did  _ all by himself _ .

Eddie quirks a brow and tries to forget about their previous conversation. “Yeah, I remember,” he replies, prompting Richie to continue.

“Well some guy recorded one of them and put it on youtube,” Richie explains. “It was one of my better sets, too, so it got a whole bunch of hits or likes or whatever the fuck it’s called. Basically a lot of people watched it.”

“You’re on youtube? Well, shit, Rich. You’ve made it,” Eddie jokes. “You should just quit now. That’s the big leagues, man. Nothing you ever do will be able to top that.” He doesn’t bother trying to hide the shit-eating grin curling onto his lips.

Richie flicks him on the shoulder. “Fuck you,” he says. “I’m on youtube now and there’s only one way from there, and it’s  _ up _ , baby. Netflix, I’m coming for your ass next,” he laughs. “You wanna see it?”

Eddie doesn't even pretend to think about it before he shakes his head. “Nah, let’s watch someone who’s actually funny,” he suggests. Of course, he doesn't actually mean that.  _ Of course _ , he wants to watch Richie’s video. But he’s not going to let him know that. “Speaking of Netflix, didn’t Jenny Slate just release a new special there?”

“Asshole, I’m so funny,” Richie retorts, reaching for the remote to turn the television on and set up the stream. “I could totally take Jenny Slate in a laugh-off.”

That gets a real good laugh out of Eddie. “Oh my god, no fucking way,” he says. “She’d wipe the floor with you, man.”

"Fuck you, dickhead," Richie shoots back. He presses the arrow button on the remote until the selection lights up around the youtube option.

"Hey no, I said I don't wanna watch you crack shitty your mom jokes for an hour! I get enough of that in person!" Eddie cries and lunges across the couch to try and wrestle the remote from Richie's grip.

Richie jerks away and holds the remote out so if Eddie wants to get it, he'll have to climb over him to reach it. Clearly he forgot that Eddie’s never been deterred by that sort of stunt. Hell, as a kid he used to love when Richie would do that. Used to love getting all up in Ricihe’s space like that.

So, naturally, he does the same thing now. Eddie jerks an elbow into Richie’s stomach as he throws himself across his lap, scrabbling for the remote.

Richie stretches his arm even further, straining his whole upper body to keep it from Eddie. With his free hand he shoves at Eddie, trying to hold him back.

"Fuck off! You're watching my stand up and you're gonna fucking laugh at it!" Richie shouts between laughter.

When Eddie still doesn’t quit, Richie sticks a finger into his mouth and makes a show of slobbering all over it. Then he holds it out towards Eddie with a wicked grin.

“Oh, fuck you. Fuck you!” Eddie cries, scrambling back to his corner of the couch. There’s no fucking way he’s getting a wet willy over a fucking tv remote. Not worth it. So not worth it. He points his own dry, clean finger at Richie. “That’s cheating, that’s so unfair, you asshole!”

Richie wipes his finger on his jeans and the smugness grows. “That’s what I thought,” he says triumphantly and aims the remote at the tv. He’s already got youtube pulled up onscreen, and he uses the remote to type his name into the search bar. His stand up routine is the second video that shows up. The first is one of those dumb youtube challenges, with a thumbnail of a blindfolded Richie, which looks like it’s posted from his actual account. Go figure.

As the video loads, Eddie makes himself comfortable in his seat. He leans back into the cushions and pulls his legs up onto the couch, crossing them. He’s not as far from Richie as he was when they first sat down, their brief playfight over the remote having closed some of that space between them, and his knee bumps into Richie’s thigh.

Richie doesn’t say anything about it, and he doesn’t shift away from it or try to put any more space between them.

“Okay shut up, it’s starting,” Richie says, tossing the remote to the side and smacking Eddie across the chest to get his attention.

“I’m not even talking, dipshit.”

“Shut up, you are now!”

“Only because you—”

Richie’s hand slaps over Eddie’s mouth, effectively shutting him up. “Shhh!” He hisses like an angry librarian. He even brings his other hand up to his own lips, placing one finger against them.

It takes everything in Eddie’s power not to lick Richie’s palm where it sits over his mouth. Thirteen year old Eddie probably wouldn’t have been able to resist the urge, not when thirteen year old Richie wouldn’t have even hesitated to do so had their positions been reversed.

Then Richie’s hand drops back into his lap and onscreen Richie is being introduced to the bar he’s performing at, the crowd cheering and clapping for him as he walks out on stage.

And his comedy is… well, it’s pretty fucking funny, to say the least. Not that Eddie expected anything less. Richie’s always known how to make people laugh. He’s always been good at it. Truth be told, Eddie’s a little surprised no one big has picked up on him yet. It’s all too easy to picture Richie lighting up Radio City Music Hall, or, hell, maybe even SNL.

Of course, there’s no way he’s going to give Richie the satisfaction of knowing he thinks he’s  _ funny _ . Not when Eddie so adamantly insists that he’s anything but. (Which they both know is a total fucking lie, but it’s the principle of the thing.)

So as onscreen Richie cracks joke after joke, Eddie sits on the couch, biting down on his lip and swallowing down all of his laughter. He almost breaks a few times, and, of course, Richie catches on.

The next time a particularly funny one-liner nearly sends Eddie, Richie leans in. His shoulder presses right up against Eddie’s as he ducks his head in real close, close enough that Eddie can feel his breath against the shell of his ear. He suppresses a shiver.

“I can see you trying not to laugh,” Richie whispers, nudging Eddie with his arm. “It’s okay, let it out, I won’t judge you. Promise,” he teases.

“Fuck off,” Eddie replies, trying not to sound amused. “Trust me, I’m not holding back my laughter, this shit isn’t funny,” he lies.

Richie cackles. “Oh, bullshit! You’re about to burst, man! Just admit I’m funny, come on!”

Eddie tears his eyes off of onscreen Richie to look at real life Richie, and he shakes his head. “No fucking way,” he replies, jutting his chin out defiantly. “I’m not gonna lie to you like that, Rich. What kind of friend would I be if I did that?”

Richie snorts. “You’re so full of it. Just admit it, Eds. I’m the funniest person you’ve ever known,” he goads, leaning into Eddie’s side even more.

“You’re not even in the top five funniest people I know,” Eddie replies, biting down on his lip to keep from laughing at the overexaggerated pout Richie gives him in response.

Richie’s bottom lip sticks out, and he shoves Eddie. “That’s mean,” he says like an upset child. He pushes Eddie again. “That’s  _ really mean _ . You don’t mean that.”  _ Another _ push.

Eddie sticks out his hands and pushes back. “I do mean that,” he says.

Richie jostles him again, and Eddie fights back, and the two of them dissolve into a shoving match that lasts as long as it takes for Richie to tip Eddie against the side of the couch, hovering over him triumphantly. “C’mon, just say it,” he hounds. “You know you wanna. Say I’m funny, say I make you laugh.”

Eddie puts up a little more of a fight, but his chances of winning here look slimmer and slimmer with each passing second. Richie must be able to tell he’s getting closer and closer to cracking, because that grin slowly returns until he’s beaming full force. 

“Fine!” Eddie finally cries. “Fine! If I say it will you get off of me, your knee is digging into my kidney!”

Richie laughs and shifts his knee, but he doesn’t move off of Eddie. “Yes,” he agrees. “Now tell me what I wanna hear, baby,” he teases, cupping a hand around his own ear and bending even closer.

“Fuck you,” Eddie bites, but he’s laughing a little, unable to hold it back anymore. “Fine, you’re funny. The funniest person I’ve ever known. There! I said it, and I’ll deny the fuck out of it if anyone asks,” he says. “Happy?”

Richie’s hand falls from around his ear and lands on the side of Eddie’s neck. His gaze meets Eddie’s and the curve of his mouth is genuine, a full smile that feels like it’s just meant for Eddie’s eyes. 

“I am now,” Richie says, and it’s soft. Like maybe it’s not just about getting Eddie to admit that he’s funny anymore. It’s so soft. And so are his eyes, warm around the edges, and his face is right there, right above Eddie’s. When did he get so close?

Eddie can see the freckles on the bridge of his nose, still there after all these years. He can feel Richie’s breath fanning against his cheek, can see the way his lips have parted, tongue poking out to wet them. They’re pretty, really pretty.

It feels different, now. Like the air in the room has shifted, the mood changing into something much more… intimate.

When his eyes flicker away from Richie’s lips— he’s been staring for too long now, too long— he notices that Richie isn’t even looking at him. Not properly. 

His eyes are on  _ Eddie’s  _ lips.

_ Oh _ .

And Eddie isn’t breathing. He  _ can’t _ . He’s only dreamed of this very scenario since the first time he’d gotten a taste of him that day in Richie’s bedroom.

And then Richie’s eyes are fluttering shut behind his glasses and he starts to inch closer, starts to  _ lean in _ .

Eddie wants it,  _ god _ does he want it. But before Richie’s lips can connect with his own he lifts a hand, blocking him off.

Richie’s lips collide with his palm, and his eyes fly open, eyebrows drawing together and features contorting. “Eddie?” He asks. But then he starts to laugh. There’s a manic edge to it, though, and Eddie can see he’s trying to use it as a shield to hide behind. To mask the hurt, the disappointment, that confusion with humor and a strained smile that stretches too big across his face.

“Easy now, Eds, I’ve had plenty of practice kissing my own hand. I don’t need to go around kissing yours, too,” he jokes, though it’s not as strong as some of the others he’s cracked this evening. Far from it.

Eddie tries to smile back, but he’s sure it’s just as forced as Ricie’s. Not because he’s uncomfortable, though. Because he’s confused. So very confused. 

“What? I’m not good enough to practice on anymore?” He cracks back, and regrets it as soon as the words are out of his mouth. Fuck, he didn’t mean to bring that memory up.

Something crosses Richie’s expression, and his eyes widen a little. It’s obvious Richie’s mind goes to the exact same place. But his thoughts on the matter are entirely unclear to Eddie. Shit.

“How much have you had to drink?” Eddie asks before Richie can say anything about the memory. Maybe it’s the alcohol talking. Richie always gets one hundred percent more affectionate when he’s drunk.

Richie frowns over at his wine glass, which sits on the coffee table, still full and completely untouched. “Just the one glass with dinner,” he answers, dragging his gaze back to Eddie. He stares him dead in the eyes and says, “I’m not drunk.”

Eddie’s stomach flips. “But you tried to kiss me,” Eddie points out, looking between Richie and the wine glass. 

The furrow in Richie’s brows deepens. “Uh, yeah. I did,” he agrees. The  _ what about it _ is implied.

“Why?” It’s all Eddie can manage to ask even though there’s about a thousand other questions ping-ponging through his head. 

Richie blinks at him in disbelief, which, frankly, confuses Eddie even more. Why does he look like that? What is Eddie not getting that, apparently, should be obvious?

“Because I’ve been flirting with you all night?” Richie says, voice lilting up at the end. He says it like he can’t believe Eddie hasn’t picked up on it. Like it should be obvious. “Because I asked you to my house and cooked for you? Because I lit a candle and bought a fucking tablecloth and everything?” He continues. “Because people usually kiss on dates?”

It’s Eddie’s turn to blink dumbly at Richie. “I— what— you… were flirting with me?” He asks, the fluttering in his chest growing stronger and stronger. And, hold up. Did Richie just say— “Wait, this is a  _ date _ ?” He blurts next, as the words sink in and really hit him.

Richie snorts, but he nods, completely serious. “Uh, yeah. I’ve kind of been flirting with you since we were thirteen, but thanks for finally noticing,” he says.

“Since we were thirteen…” Eddie repeats, dumbstruck.

“Yeah. Which is why when I saw you in the grocery store I finally bucked up and asked you on a date. Didn’t want to waste this second chance, y’know? So yeah, this is a date, Eds. Or I thought it was…” he trails off, suddenly unsure.

It  _ is _ a date. Holy fuck. Eddie was  _ right _ . Holy  _ fuck _ . He’s  _ on a date with Richie Tozier _ .

“Hang on, how did you know I’m…” Eddie trails off now, waving his hand through the air.

“I didn’t,” Richie answers. “I sort of just, went for it? But you said yes so I figured you must be otherwise you wouldn’t have… but if you didn’t think this was a date… fuck. Eddie, please tell me you’re not straight.” His eyes are big, the fear and panic evident.

Eddie laughs. “Fuck no, I’m not straight. Haven’t been for, like, twenty-eight years now.”

If Eddie thought Richie’s eyes had been big before, they practically bug out now. “ _ Twenty-eight years _ .

Eddie nods, sheepish. “I, uh, you remember those kisses?” He asks slowly. “The, uh, ones in your room? When we were thirteen and you were trying to teach me how to do it?”

“Fuck, of course I remember those, Eds,” Richie replies earnestly. “I could never forget those.”

Warmth floods through Eddie. God, that’s nice to hear. He nods firmly. “Well, yeah, they kind of helped me figure out my sexaulity—  _ you _ kind of helped me figure out my sexuality,” he admits.

Wonder shines in Richie’s eyes and he mouths “me” and points at himself. “Shit, I was your gay awakening and I didn’t even know!” The excitement falters and his face falls. “Why didn’t I know?”

Eddie reaches out to take Richie’s hand, curling their palms together. He squeezes reassuringly. “I was going to tell you, I was. But then you told me you were moving and I didn’t want that to be your last memory of me.” Eddie shakes his head, eyes dropping down to their hands. He runs his thumb along Richie’s skin. “It was stupid, but I was scared.”

The soreness dissipates from Richie’s face, and he slips his other hand up Eddie’s arm and over his shoulder so he can cup the back of his neck. “I get it,” he says, and Eddie can tell that he truly does.

Richie pauses. “Hold on,” he says slowly. “So does this mean that you liked me when you were thirteen, too?”

“Yeah, I did,” Eddie answers, and the corners of his lips quirk up shyly. “I was actually kind of in love with you,” he laughs. Then pauses and his brow crinkles up. “Wait, what do you mean  _ too _ ?”

“I mean I’ve been in love with you since I was twelve,” Richie says, and his face blooms. His eyes crinkle at the corners from the force of his smile, which is so bright it could rival the god damn sun right now.

And Eddie feels like he’s floating on air. He feels a little stupid, too, because, shit, if Richie liked him back then too then he really should have told him. They could have had so much more time. Maybe they wouldn’t have fallen out of touch either… But that doesn’t matter. Not really. They can’t change the past. There’s no use dwelling on what could have been. What matters is that they have now. Now and the rest of the future.

“And now?” Eddie asks shyly, nervously. His lip wedges itself between his teeth and he gnaws on it.

But the nerves melt away when Richie laughs, bright and booming. His whole body shakes with it, and his eyes go impossibly tender when they open and land on Eddie. “Eds, I just tried to kiss you, what do you think?”

Eddie flushes. Yeah, dumb question, but he had to check. “Right,” he says, laughing along. “So that’s— are you— you’re—”

“I’m just as in love with you now as I was then,” Richie answers. “Twenty-eight years. Maybe even twenty-nine.”

“For twenty-nine years?” Eddie repeats. “Like all of them?”

Richie nods. “All of them,” he confirms. “I’ve loved you for all of them.”

A dopey smile unfurls across Eddie’s face and he drops Richie’s hand so he can slip his arms around his neck instead, holding him in place. “I… yeah. Me too. I mean I’ve loved you too. For all twenty-eight years. Haven’t stopped. Loving you.” He breathes out and his heart soars in his chest. “I love you.” He’s giddy, bubbly with it. “I love you,” he repeats, and it just keeps spilling out. But it feels too damn good to finally say. 

And if the matching dopey grin on Richie’s face says anything, he’s just as thrilled to hear it repeated so many times.

“I love you, Eddie. I love you,” Richie says back. His eyes shine a little, like maybe he could cry at any second, and it makes Eddie’s heart grow twice as big. 

Eddie’s emotional, too. Fuck, he just found out his lifelong crush likes him back, how could he  _ not _ be a little emotional? That’s fucking  _ huge _ . If Richie did start to cry, he probably wouldn’t be too far behind him.

Richie smooths his thumb over the side of Eddie’s neck, where his hand still rests. “If I try to kiss you now I won’t end up with a mouthful of hand again, will I?” He asks.

Eddie barks out a laugh, but shakes his head. “Fuck no, get over here,” he says and brings a hand up to cradle Richie’s jaw before drawing him in for a kiss.

When their lips meet it feels like no time has passed. Eddie is thirteen again, back in Richie’s bedroom, kissing the boy he’ll soon realize is the love of his life.

Only now, he’s forty, he’s in Richie’s living room, and he’s kissing the man he  _ knows _ is the love of his life. The man who loves him back.

And this time it isn’t a shy, chaste brush of clumsy, uneducated lips. Their lips slot together with purpose, a sense of urgency. The desire to make up for so much lost time.

It’s fucking great, is what it is. 

“Y’know,” Eddie mumbles into the kiss after a few moments. He chuckles in the back of his throat when neither one of them makes to break apart so he can speak. His train of thought gets interrupted as Richie presses insistent kiss after insistent kiss to his lips. “ _ You know _ ,” Eddie repeats, placing both hands on Richie’s chest to stop him long enough to finish his sentence. “The reason I didn’t think this was a date was because I thought you were straight,” he tells him.

Richie’s jaw falls open, eyes blowing out as he gasps, mock offended. He sits back and blinks at Eddie. “Me?” He squawks. “You thought I was straight? Are you serious?”

Eddie laughs, embarrassed, and nods. “Yeah, I know. Ridiculous.”

“Damn right! You’re so fucking dumb,” Richie laughs. Then he crawls back into Eddie’s lap and leans in, turning on the bedroom eyes. “Why don’t you come here and I’ll show you just how straight I am,” he growls playfully before pouncing on Eddie again.

This kiss is much hotter than the first; Richie’s got something to prove. His tongue slides against the seam of Eddie’s lips, and Eddie opens his mouth, gasping as Richie’s tongue pushes in and slips past his own.

Eddie has half a mind to crack a joke about Richie thinking Frenching is gross as a kid, but the other half of his mind is totally scrambled by it, too overwhelmed to do anything but let it happen and totally enjoy every second of it, because,  _ god _ , Frenching Richie is  _ so fucking good _ .

Richie’s mouth is inviting, warm and wet, and Eddie doesn’t even mind that it’s a little messy. He wants to get lost in it.

Richie presses forward, and Eddie sinks further back into the couch. The armrest digs uncomfortably into his back, but he doesn’t care. It’s the furthest thing from his mind as he gets a lapful of Richie.

He’s bracketed in by Richie’s thighs, and Richie’s big hands hold his face, tipping it back so he can kiss him deeper. Richie’s ass just barely presses against Eddie’s groin, taunting, teasing, and Eddie rolls his hips up. His mouth falls open even more as the contact sends a jolt of pleasure coursing through his body.

Above him, Richie moans, his grip on Eddie tightening. “Shit, Eds, do that again,” he pants.

Eddie does it again, and Richie meets him halfway, grinding down into his lap.

And, god, he feels like a teenager again, rubbing up against Richie like this. But, fuck, if he doesn’t love every second of it.

But then the delicious friction comes to a halt as Richie shuffles back in his lap, straddling his thighs instead. Eddie whines at the loss of contact, but then Richie’s hands leave their place on his face and find his belt.

“Woah.” Eddie lets out a shuddery breath and his brain short circuits as Richie works the leather out of its confines. And the sight of Richie above him like that, trying to get him naked like that, looking so god damn eager like that… it’s overwhelming. Everything is moving so fast, and Eddie wants it, he’s wanted it for as long as he can remember. But finally getting it? Fuck, that’s not something he ever expected. It’s a lot to take in.

Eddie has to close his eyes to collect himself and blindly grasp at Richie’s hands. “Hey, wait, hold on,” he pants, fingers connecting with Richie’s wrist. They curl around them to stop his hands.

Richie pauses, but he doesn’t let go of the buckle. “Hey, are you alright?” He asks, and he sounds so concerned, like if Eddie really did want him to stop he would with no hesitation and not a single complaint.

A palm touches Eddie’s cheek, and he finally opens his eyes. Richie’s face hovers inches above his, forehead creased and eyes gentle. His heart aches in his chest, but it’s one of the happy kinds of aches, the  _ I can’t believe I’m so lucky _ kind of ache. The  _ I love him so much _ kind of ache. The anxiety starts to ease.

Eddie nods. “Yeah,” he says, and he means it. “Yeah, I… shouldn’t you at least buy me dinner first?” He jokes, trying to lighten the mood again.

Richie laughs and pauses. “I  _ made _ you dinner,” he reminds him. “That’s arguably better than buying you dinner. Making you dinner is domestic as hell.”

Eddie grins, and just like that it’s not so scary anymore. “Oh yeah? That do it for you? Domesticity?”

“Fuck yeah, baby,” Richie overexaggeratedly groans out. His fingers start back up, and then Eddie’s belt is open and Richie’s toying with the button and zip of his jeans.

“Cooking dinner,” Eddie rasps. “Cleaning dishes. Doing laundry. Making the bed.”

“Oh, fuck, keep going, Eds. That gets me so hot,” Richie moans.

And Eddie would never admit it to Richie, not yet anyways, but the thought of doing all of that with him, of coming home to Richie and making dinner together and cleaning things together, fuck. All that domestic shit really does get him going. He wants that for them, wants it so bad. That long-term, loving, stable relationship. Fuck, that gets him hard.

Instead of admitting that, though, Eddie fists the front of Richie’s shirt and pulls him into another searing kiss. They get lost in each other’s mouths again, hips falling into a steady rhythm against each other once more.

After a while, Richie leans back so he can pull off his henley without smacking Eddie in the face. He gets a little tangled in the sleeves in his haste, though, and Eddie has to help him find his way out.

Once the offending article is off, Eddie tosses it over the back of the couch. He presses his palms against the top of Richie’s ribcage, dragging them down his sides before settling them against his waist. His eyes rake over Richie’s bare chest, hungrily taking him in.

Richie looks a little pink in the cheeks from the attention, but he doesn’t verbalize any embarrassment. Instead he knocks Eddie’s hands from his waist so he can start evening the playing field. He tugs the hem of Eddie’s button up from where it’s tucked into the waistband of his pants, and his fingers fly up to the buttons next. “Come on, I can’t be the only one half naked here,” he laughs. “Lemme see that tight little body, Eds.”

A sound of indignation falls from Eddie’s mouth and he whacks Richie on the arm. “ _ Never _ say that again. God, that was so porny,” he complains, but he’s laughing. He’s a little red, too.

Richie waggles his eyes and continues working on the buttons. He’s nearly reached the top, and Eddie’s stomach and chest slowly become exposed. “What we’re doing right now is a little porny, wouldn’t you say?” 

“Quit fucking saying porny and kiss me,” Eddie demands, reaching out for Richie. The only downside to Richie being shirtless is that Eddie has nothing to grab onto to tug him down anymore. He finds a quick fix, though, and slides his fingers around the nape of Richie’s neck and up into his hair, using his grip as leverage to pull Richie down.

Richie stifles a whine as Eddie tugs his hair and complies, bending to kiss Eddie full on the mouth.

His fingers still against the last button, too preoccupied with the kiss to remember how to get the rest of his motor functions working again. But he doesn’t forget for long.

Once the last button is free, Richie breaks the kiss and pushes the shirt open, spreading his hands over the expanse of Eddie’s chest.

They’re big and warm and rough against Eddie’s skin, and they leave tingles in their wake. Eddie’s head drops back against the headrest, only just resisting from arching into the touch.

Richie pushes the shirt over Eddie’s shoulders, and Eddie has to sit up a little to fully remove it, but as soon as it’s gone Richie pounces on his belt again. “Come on, off, off, off,” he demands.

Eddie laughs and helps Richie with it, yanking his belt from the loops and letting it fall to the floor. Then he lifts his hips while Richie tugs at his jeans, pulling them down his legs until, finally, they’re gone.

“You too,” Eddie requests, tugging at a belt loop on Richie’s jeans.

That’s all it takes before Richie jumps off of him, to his feet, and works on taking off his own pants. He nearly breaks the zipper with how eager he is to open it, and he almost falls over a couple of times as he hops around from foot to foot, trying to kick the jeans off as quick as possible.

Eddie watches from his perch on the couch, laughing softly and smiling fondly. God, he loves Richie.

And then Richie’s standing there in his boxers that have tiny little hot dogs all over them, and Eddie doesn’t even have time to tease him about them before Richie’s back on him, diving in for another kiss.

They’re half-undressed, making out on Richie’s stupid expensive couch, no sign of slowing down. So desperate for it they couldn’t even make it to a bed.

And it makes Eddie laugh a little how into that he is.

He laughs into Richie’s mouth, trying to control it but totally unable to.

Richie pulls back to lift an eyebrow at Eddie. “I know I’m the funniest person you know, but I didn’t think my kissing was that funny,” he jokes.

Eddie’s laughter doubles and he tucks his face into Richie’s shoulder, arms curling around his back as he giggles. “No, it’s not that,” he says, then lifts his head again. “I just can’t believe we’re about to fuck on the couch like a couple of horny teenagers.”

Richie grins and then gasps, jerking back dramatically. He slips off of Eddie’s lap a little. Oh, Eddie, my love,” he drawls. “We’re about to  _ fuck _ !” He exclaims, clutching at nonexistent pearls. “Oh, how  _ romantic _ . I’m swooning, I’m swooning!”

Eddie snorts, cheeks warming regardless. “Oh, fuck off, I’m not gonna call it making love, fuck you,” he laughs.

Richie falls forward against Eddie and cackles into his chest. “Isn’t that what it’s called when two people who love each other fuck?” He asks, snickering as he peers up at Eddie with big eyes.

Eddie, curls his fingers around Richie’s chin, and tilts his head back so he’s properly looking into them. “I love you,” he says, and Richie’s features soften at that. Eddie leans in to steal a quick, closed-mouthed kiss. Then he whispers, low and dirty, “Now, please, fuck me.”

“Shit,” Richie breathes out, eyes turning dark. “As much as I’d love to just, like, take you right here right now, the lube’s in my room, so. ‘Fraid we’ll have to christen the couch another time.”

_ Another time _ . Fuck. Eddie’s torn. On the one hand, he loves that, finds it so fucking hot, wants to christen  _ every _ piece of furniture in this place with Richie, fuck. But the more rational side of his brain screams how  _ messy _ and  _ unsanitary _ that is, and how hard it would be to clean all of that. He has a feeling the lizard side of his brain might just win that argument, though.  _ Next time _ .

“Shit, what are we waiting for?” Eddie asks, pushing at Richie’s chest to get him off of him so he can sit up.

Richie scrambles to his feet, but before Eddie can rise from the couch, one of Richie’s arms slides beneath his knees and the other slips around his back and then he’s being  _ lifted off the fucking couch _ .

Eddie’s eyes go wide and he yelps out, arms immediately gripping around Richie’s neck, tight. “What the fuck are you doing?” He cries.

Richie staggers a little under the new addition of weight, but he finds his balance and grins at Eddie. “I’m carrying you to bed, Spaghetti Man,” he answers. “I’m being  _ romantic _ .”

“First of all, do not call me that while I have a fucking boner for you, dipshit,” Eddie says, and if he wasn’t so afraid of being dropped he’d shove a finger threateningly in Richie’s face. “Second, put me fucking down right fucking now. I’m not going to be dropped, you asshole!”

Richie snickers and dips down to peck Eddie’s cheek. “Aw, babe, you have a boner for me? I’m touched,” he teases. “And I’m not gonna fucking drop you, have a little faith.”

Eddie opens his mouth to tell Richie that as much as he loves him, he has absolutely no faith in him, but before he can his stomach plummets as the sensation of falling fills all of his senses.

“Richie!” He shouts, clutching onto him tighter.

Except he never hits the ground, and Richie’s laughter fills his ear. “Oh, you fucking  _ asshole _ !” He hisses.

Richie doesn’t deign him with a response, just kisses him to shut him up.

It totally works to distract Eddie as he starts to walk towards the stairs— because, of course, Richie has one of the swankier apartments in New York with a second floor. Apparently hosting your own radio show pays well.

When they reach the foot of the stairs, Eddie demands to be put down. “There’s no fucking way I’m letting you carry me up the fucking stairs,” he says, struggling to get out of Richie’s arms.

“That’s so not romantic,” Richie argues, but he relents and lets Eddie drop his feet safely back to solid ground.

“No, going to the hospital because I cracked my fucking skull open is not romantic,” Eddie points out. He slides his hand into Richie’s, twining their fingers together. “Now come on, I was promised some good old fashioned love making.” He waggles his eyebrows and snickers as Richie’s face lights up.

“I fucking love you,” he says as Eddie pulls the them up the stairs.

At the top, Richie backs Eddie into a wall and kisses him right up against it until they both get too impatient and Richie drags them into his bedroom.

Richie’s bed is warm, and so is Richie. His hair is still a little damp from their post-coital shower, and it tickles Eddie’s forehead where his face is tucked up against the side of Richie’s neck. But Eddie’s comfortable, and he’s  _ happy _ . So god damn fucking happy.

If thirteen year old Eddie could see himself now.

He’s the luckiest guy out there, he has to be. How many people can say that they got the second chance they’d always desperately hoped for with the love of their life? It puts a silly little smile on his face, and Eddie nestles into Richie’s arms even more.

Richie shifts a little, head lolling to the side so he can see what Eddie’s up to. “What’s that smile all about?” He asks, though his own lips pull up affectionately.

Eddie shakes his head. “I’m just really happy,” he answers.

Richie softens and he dips down to press a kiss to Eddie’s forehead. “Me too,” he says.

They fall into another comfortable silence, basking in each other’s presence, in each other’s love.

Then Richie breaks it again. “Y’know, I almost waited an hour to go to the grocery store,” he says.

Eddie’s fingers pause where they trace random shapes into Richie’s chest, and he sits up a little. “Really?” He asks. 

Richie nods.

“I’m really glad you didn’t,” Eddie tells him.

“I’m really glad I didn’t, too,” Richie agrees, and he brings a hand up to catch the one Eddie has on his chest. He laces their fingers together and brings them up to his lips to kiss.

Eddie feels himself go pink at that. He knew Richie liked to be very touchy feely and affectionate as a child, but Eddie never really thought of it as more than just a joke. An overexaggeration of sorts. But he knows now that it wasn’t. That it isn’t. Richie’s just like that. Naturally a romantic. It’s really fucking sweet.

“Mm, can’t wait to gush all about you on my show,” Richie says. “Brag to all my listeners about how hot my boyfriend is.”

Eddie snorts, cheeks burning even warmer. His chest squeezes hearing  _ boyfriend _ fall from Richie’s lips. He really likes the sound of that. “Shut the fuck up,” he says.

“I’m totally serious,” Richie replies, twisting onto his side so he can look into Eddie’s eyes. “I’ve got the world’s hottest man in my bed, and I get to call him  _ mine _ .”

Eddie buries his face into Richie’s shoulder and laughs. “Does that mean I’m gonna have to start listening to your show to make sure you’re not, like, blabbing about our sex life?”

“You should definitely listen to it,” Richie insists. “I’ll make every broadcast a live love letter to you, Eds, just you wait.”

Eddie groans. “That’s sappy as fuck, Rich.”

“You make me sappy as fuck,” Richie says, and he ducks his head to kiss Eddie. 

They’re still kissing when Richie’s mouth opens wider and he yawns right into Eddie’s.

Eddie jerks back with a surprised bleat of laughter. “Am I fucking boring you?” He jokes, shoving at Richie’s chest. 

Richie laughs and shakes his head, trying to pull Eddie back into his side. “No, no, never,” he promises. “M’just getting sleepy. You sure know how to make a guy work.” He sends a lewd grin Eddie’s way. “Gotta get my beauty rest so I’m all recharged for round two in the morning,” he adds.

Eddie snorts and rolls his eyes, but the thought of morning sex with Richie makes his heart do funny things. He could get used to that. “Is that all you think about?” He teases.

Richie’s arm tightens around Eddie’s waist, and he shifts over so he’s half draped over his chest now. He tangles their legs beneath the sheets, too. “You make me this way, baby,” he jokes back, then his voice goes all soft. “You’re so good to me.”

An overwhelming surge of love rushes through Eddie, and he holds onto Richie a little tighter.

“You better not sneak out in the morning,” Richie jokes into Eddie’s shoulder.

Eddie pushes some of Richie’s hair off of his forehead and shakes his head, even though Richie can’t see it. “I’m not gonna do that,” he says.

And even though he knows Richie’s only joking about it, Eddie’s serious. Leaving is the furthest thing on his mind; it’s not even on his radar. He just got Richie back, there’s no way he’s going to lose him again. Not when he finally gets to hear his laugh again, and see his crooked smile, and listen to his shitty jokes, and kiss his stupid face, and love him properly with his whole entire heart. 

No, he’s in this for the long haul, and he knows Richie is too. It’s the two of them back together again; partners in crime, best friends, Eddie and Richie against the world.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Eddie says. And that’s a promise.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Let me know what you think with a kudos and a comment! 
> 
> Come say hi on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/brooklynbabybucky) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/BrklynBabyBucky)! :)


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